The Night of the Devil's Reunion
by California gal
Summary: A futurecast story, my ideas of what life might have been like for Jim and Artemus 25 or so years down the road... with Dr. Loveless still tormenting them, of course!


THE NIGHT OF THE DEVIL'S REUNION

By California gal

"He hates me! He wishes I'd never been born! He wishes I'd been a boy to follow in his footsteps!"

Lily Fortune Gordon lowered the embroidery hoop to her lap to look up at the young woman leaning disconsolately against the porch railing, head down, gazing toward the lushly blooming roses on the ground below, but obviously not seeing them. "Rory."

Aurora Allan West whirled, green eyes sparkling with both anger and near tears. "It's true, Aunt Lily. I know it is! He won't let me do anything I want to. All my friends are traveling this summer. Daddy doesn't trust me to be out of his sight!" She had asked, begged, to be allowed to join in the excursion her girlfriends had told her about.

"That's _not_ true, Rory, and you know it," Lily said quietly as she gazed at the young woman. Rory would be nineteen in a few weeks. She was maturing into a very beautiful woman, with rich dark hair that was currently piled into a bun at the top of her fine head, fastened with clips and combs. Her rosy mouth was perfectly proportioned for her face, as was her nose, though the chin was a tad prominent. Rory's father claimed that her mother had possessed that same stubborn chin.

Lily thought it amusing that Rory had chosen to don a frock today. She had been residing with the Gordon family while her father was attending a special conference in Mexico, and except for the few times when the family went into town or another excursion, Rory had stuck to her favorite trousers and cotton shirt. Today she wore a white lawn gown trimmed in eyelet lace and a shiny emerald green sash around the slim waist. Did Rory believe that no one else was aware that her father had purchased that dress for her the week before he departed?

Rory surely was not the soul of tact. She had barely said hello to her father when she bombarded him with the request to accompany some friends on a trek to spend a few days on Catalina Island in southern California. Jim's first response had been to inquire who else was going. Then he asked who would be the chaperone. Rory's reply that the older sister of one girl would be accompanying them sealed the deal. That young woman's reputation for reliability was not the best. Lily had tried to explain that to Rory, but Rory could not see anything except her father's cruel refusal. Lily was also certain that when the two friends had been visiting yesterday to tell Rory about the excursion and invite her along, Rory had assured them she would certainly accompany them, allowing them to believe the decision was her own. Now she was going to suffer the humiliation of telling them her father forbade it.

The years had been kind to Lily Fortune Gordon. She still had her figure, if not quite the waistline she once possessed before the birth of two children, while her lovely face revealed few lines. The dark hair was liberally silvered, but her devoted husband stated those gleaming hairs were simply the reward of having been a loving wife and superb mother, that they were now her crown. Just a few months ago one of her former acting colleagues had visited California and tried to persuade her to return to the stage, even suggesting she would not be relegated to the roles of "matron" because her appearance was still so youthful. Lily had declined; like her husband, her life now was here on the farm, among the acres of orchards.

"Your father allows you to attend the university" she went on.

Rory threw her hands in the air. "Because he wants to be rid of me!"

Over on the glider beyond the steps, India Gordon snickered. "Make up your mind, Rory. Either he is refusing permission for you to travel because he doesn't want you out of his sight, or he sent you off to Stanford because he hates the sight of you."

Rory West glared at her nearly four-years-younger "cousin." "You don't understand, India. Your parents love you and understand you."

As India rolled her big brown eyes, Lily laughed softly. "That's not what India often tells us. Rory, please understand. Your father is being a father did not come naturally to him. You know you were a a surprise."

"And he resents me for disrupting his wonderful life!" Rory screeched before marching into the big house through the screened door, allowing it to slam loudly behind her.

WWWWWW

James West looked toward the big white house as the banging sound reverberated in the early summer air. "If she broke that door, it comes out of her allowance."

Artemus Gordon chuckled. "Yeah, I've heard that before." Artie knew that Jim had real difficulty refusing his daughter anything, let alone disciplining her.

Jim leaned his back against the fence of the corral where the two men had been watching the antics of the new black colt, a grandson of the magnificent black silk stallion who had served Jim West so well for many years. They had just been discussing a horse swap. "How do you do it, Artie? It's been nearly fifteen years, and I still don't have the hang of it."

"Jim, you've done fine. Rory is a spirited young woman, that's all."

"I guess." Jim looked toward the house again. Upstairs, in the front bedroom Rory used when she stayed here with the Gordons, a curtain moved. "She never has truly accepted me, Artie. She still resents the fact that I left her mother alone, seemingly deserted her to die. Rory won't believe me when I tell her I did not know about her until it was too late."

"She's just going through a phase. You probably remember a time when you wanted to be treated like a child, taken care of and cosseted, yet you also wanted to be looked upon as a man, free and independent. I know we had that with Jamie, and it's coming for India. She already shows the signs. Nevertheless, I'm still not sure you're doing the right thing by not telling her the truth about what's going on," Artie added quietly.

"Have you told India?"

"Well no. Not yet. Both Lily and Jamie agree that it's best not to concern her right now. But I will tell her if the need arises, if we get word of sightings in the area."

"Rory is so damned she's like her mother, Artie. Stubborn as all get-out. Wants her independence." _Especially from me. She can't wait to get away._

"I know," Artemus murmured, and prevented himself from smiling. He could have added that Aurora West also took after her father. He reached out and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It'll pass, Jim. I promise."

Sometimes, Artemus found himself experiencing a pang of surprise when gazing at his longtime friend. The white threads in the smooth dark hair and the trim mustache should not be there because otherwise James West was the same man he had been twenty, twenty-five years ago. Still trim and athletic, with only deepened sun lines at the corners of his eyes that might betray his age. Artemus knew Jim kept fit by working alongside his field hands in the vineyard and orchards on the farm across the valley that he had purchased a couple of years ago after finally retiring from the service.

Not quite twenty-four years ago, Artemus Gordon had finally persuaded the love of his life, actress Lily Fortune, to marry him, much to her mother's dismay. However, the late Prudence Fortune Peters had been too busy at the time being happily married to her new, younger bridegroom to raise too much of a fuss. Artemus had reversed some of Lily's previously stated objections by assuring her that he did not expect her to sit at home and knit while he was traveling the country as a Secret Service agent. He was not ready to retire, so why should he expect her to?

Thus, Lily had continued with her career, as did Artemus. Whenever their schedules coincided, they lived together at the home he purchased near Washington, D.C. Only when she became pregnant did Lily quit the stage temporarily. As soon as she felt comfortable leaving young James Artemus Gordon with a nanny she resumed her acting, though she did try to limit her appearances to theaters in the local area. Five years later, after the birth of India, Lily decided she would rather stay home, so she retired from the stage. A few years after that, Artemus turned in his resignation, at which time they purchased the California orchards to raise plums and apricots.

Jim West turned to look back at the colt, who was now nursing from its mother. "What do we do about Loveless, Artie?"

Jim once had told Artemus Gordon that the nearly snow-white hair suited him, but realized that Artie did not exactly consider that a compliment. When a beard he attempted also emerged pure white, Gordon had quickly abandoned it. Too many children addressed him as "Santa Claus" despite he did not have the girth for the role. Always youthful in attitude, perhaps the only other foremost sign of his years were the spectacles Artemus now needed to read the newspaper.

Jim's former partner and still friend sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, Jim. Just be alert. It might be a false alarm."

"No," Jim said, shaking his head. "I've never believed he was dead. My gut tells me he's out there."

"Then where has he been the last fifteen, sixteen years? Man like Miguelito Loveless doesn't drop from sight that long."

"He might have," West replied. "He managed to do that for shorter periods previously. Although the official version was that he died in a fire that was too hot to even leave any bones, if he did _not_ die, he could have been injured. That was one hell of an explosion."

Both he and Artemus bore scars from that blast which had occurred when, in his reckless desire to incapacitate and capture the two agents, Loveless foolishly tried to hurry a reaction which would have created a paralyzing gas. Hearing the shrieked warnings of the imminent danger from Loveless's assistant, James West and Artemus Gordon had fled the building. Both were hurled to the ground by the force of the explosion, and actually had been rendered unconscious for a short spell. Upon awakening, they found the structure fully engulfed, the chemicals inside fueling the ultra-hot flames. Loveless was never found, never seen again until recent information indicated he was on the scene once more.

Artemus did not protest his partner's statement. Over the years, he had always sensed an odd connection between James West and Miguelito Loveless, almost as though they _liked_ rather than _loathed_ each other. Loveless had tried numerous times to murder the both of them, but his particular hatred had always been directed toward Jim West. Artie was certain that Loveless envied Jim's strong body and handsome features, items nature had denied Loveless in some quirk of fate or genetics.

Jim glanced up toward the sun. "I guess I'd better drag my daughter to her hated home."

Now Artie had to laugh out loud. "It's not that bad, Jim. I have to tell you, she was up at the crack of dawn this morning, and at least three times asked me what time your train was expected in San Jose."

"Because she was anticipating the gift I would be bringing." He had, as usual, brought her a special present, this time a beautiful fringed shawl handcrafted in Mexico City. "I'm sure you noticed the wonderful, warm greeting she extended," Jim said sourly as they started walking back toward the house. His daughter had been on the sofa in the parlor perusing a catalog. She glanced up, said, "Hello, Daddy," and resumed her reading. He had been absent three weeks. He knew this was her way of punishing him, and damn it, she was successful. A few minutes later she started into her harangue about "needing" to go on this trip with friends. Artemus and Lily supported his decision, but that did not carry any weight with Rory.

Artemus was silent a moment. "You are, of course, aware that Jamie is crazy about Rory."

Jim chuckled. "He can't hide it." Then he sobered, shaking his head. "I wish him luck. Rory has already told me a couple of times that she has no intention to ever marry. God help the man if he convinces her to change her mind."

Artemus did not say anything further. He and Lily had discussed this often over the years, especially when Rory had been all but living with them while Jim continued his duties as an agent, before finally taking on a desk job–the job that eventually brought him to the decision to leave the service. Jim still acted as a consultant to the agency, thus the occasional lengthy trips. Both concurred that the biggest problem was that father and daughter were too much alike in temperament, with Rory perhaps having inherited a double dose by way of her mother.

Neither Artemus nor Lily had ever met Margaret Allan. In fact, Artie had been almost as stunned as Jim to learn that Margaret had borne Jim's child. He had been under the impression that the woman who saved Jim West's life by tending to his serious gunshot wound had been a much older woman. That had been the perception Jim had presented, anyway. Artemus had later come to the conclusion that Jim had become more emotionally involved with Margaret than he cared to admit, even to himself.

A little over twenty years ago, the two agents had been assigned to look into some gun smuggling in New Mexico Territory, near the Mexican border. Deciding to separate, with Artemus going in disguise while Jim presented his credentials publicly, they had been making progress on the case when Jim suddenly vanished. Not even his horse was found. After a couple of weeks of searching, a heartbroken Gordon had had to conclude that his partner had been murdered, his body hidden somewhere, the fine black horse likely commandeered.

Nearly two months after he disappeared, Jim emerged. He had been shot and gravely wounded from ambush, had escaped by clinging to his horse. The steed had carried him deep into the rugged mountains in the vicinity, until coming upon a remote cabin which happened to be occupied by a "widow" who took him in, nursed him back to health. Jim had presented the notion in his tale that the "old lady" was something of an eccentric who did not want nor welcome visitors, living by herself in the wilderness. He had discouraged Artemus from going to see her to express gratitude.

Almost five years later, James West received a letter that rocked his world and changed his life forever. He then had to confess to Artie and Lily that the "widow" had been young and comely, though fiercely independent. She had fled into the wilderness following the death of her abusive, duplicitous husband, shying from the civilization that had not helped her escape her miserable circumstances, to live by herself, reading and painting. She traveled to the nearest town, Antelope Wells, only rarely to pick up supplies.

With the receipt of the letter, Jim also admitted that as his health returned, in the confines of the small cabin, the inevitable had occurred, he and Margaret Allan had become intimate. He had tried to persuade her to return to civilization with him, she adamantly refused. Jim had never gone back to see her, as both had agreed that would probably be best. Jim also claimed he had not been in love with Margaret Allan, but he had admired her greatly.

The letter informed Jim that Margaret Allan was very ill, likely dying. James West needed to return to claim his daughter. Although not entirely convinced he had fathered the child, Jim had traveled to New Mexico. He had been too late to see Margaret; she passed away two days before his arrival. He later told Artemus that his skepticism about the child remained until the woman caring for young Rory brought her into his presence. The moment he saw the green eyes, he knew. He related, however, that the instant the four-year-old saw him, she fled the room in terror.

He brought the frightened child back to Washington, where Lily willingly took her in, even though with an infant of her own on the way. Jim eventually rented a home, hired a housekeeper, and brought Rory home to live with him when he was not in the field. He had hoped that doing so would help heal the rift between them. As far as Jim West was concerned, the effort had been a failure. Rory continued to resent him for what she perceived he did to her mother. As soon as she was able, she would be gone from his life forever.

"Would you go fetch Rory for me, India?" Jim asked as they reached the porch.

"Sure, Uncle Jim," the girl cried, bouncing up off the glider.

At that moment, the screened door pushed open. "I'm here, Daddy," Rory said, stepping out.

Lily glanced at her handsome husband, and caught the gleam in his brown eyes. Both of them thought that the fact that Rory always addressed her parent as "Daddy," rather than the more formal "Father," meant something, consciously or unconsciously. They knew that Rory West was very proud of her famous father, though they doubted she had ever told him, anymore than he had ever told his daughter how he adored her. Two stubborn people, peas from the same pod, so to speak.

Silently Jim stepped in through the door to pick up his daughter's wicker traveling case. He had bought it for her in Bolivia a few years ago when he went to that country on an assignment. Though she never said anything except "thank you" upon accepting the gift, he did notice that she used it almost exclusively when traveling. She had taken it with her to Stanford University, along with a trunk full of other "necessities," when she attended that institution the last two years. _Well, it's a nice case. Why wouldn't she use it?_

As he came back out onto the porch, Rory was giving her adopted aunt and uncle a farewell embrace, thanking them for their hospitality. Lily kissed her cheek. "I'll telephone you soon to give you the details of Jamie's birthday party."

"You're right," Artemus said, with mock severity, "_you_ will telephone. I'll not go near that contraption!"

Jim and Lily laughed. Ever since the lines had been strung that allowed telephones in many of the homes in the valley, Artemus had resisted using the instrument except in the most dire situation. "I don't see why we needed such a thing," he grumbled more than once. "What was wrong with the telegraph? What's wrong with letters, or better yet, face-to-face?"

"And don't forget," Lily went on, "the Ladies of the G.A.R. picnic." She saw Jim West barely refrain from rolling his eyes. This was something she and her husband laughed about often. James West had at one time loved donning his best attire and attending fetes, galas, any sort of social occasion. Slowly but surely that attitude altered after his daughter came into his life. The only ones he enjoyed any these days were the ones where Rory was also involved, which was certainly the case with the picnic, a fundraising affair that would be held in the Gordons' garden.

"We'll be here!" Rory responded enthusiastically.

Jim put the case in the back of the buggy as Rory clambered into the seat, disdaining to wait until a male could assist her. She was at least wearing a dress today, and he recognized the frock. Not for him, Jim was certain. Likely she had expected Jamie to be around today. The Gordons' son was visiting a friend in San Francisco and was due back any moment. Whenever possible, Rory preferred to wear boys' trousers, in particular when she was riding horseback around the valley. She thought sidesaddles were foolish and uncomfortable. But despite her denials that Jamie Gordon was anything other than a friend and "cousin," Jim had noticed that Rory often dressed her best when the young man was around.

India Gordon moved to stand beside her father on the porch, wrapping both her arms around his waist as they watched the carriage depart. Artemus rested his arm around her shoulders. "Papa," India ask, "why is Rory so all-fired idiotic?"

Artie chuckled. "She's no more idiotic than her father, honey. Neither one is going to be the first to bend."

"I think they are also cowards," Lily said as she gathered her sewing into the small case.

India looked around. "Cowards? What do you mean, Mom?"

"Each is afraid that to speak first would open themselves up to rejection, and perhaps ridicule, from the other."

"I think you mother is right," Artemus said slowly. "I know Jim West. He never was one for showing his emotions. We know they care for each other. Deep down, I'm sure each of them realizes it as well. But saying it aloud"

"Let's just hope," Lily Gordon said softly, "that they come to their senses before it's too late."

WWWWWW

"Did you do anything interesting these last few weeks?" Jim West asked to break the silence that settled between himself and his daughter as he guided the horse down the long dirt lane.

"Not really. India and I went to see a performance in San Jose. A poetry reading. I enjoyed it, but I'm afraid India did not really appreciate it. She is so _young_, Daddy."

Jim bit back a smile. Over the years, the two girls had been best friends, but sometimes the age gap was very evident. In a few more years hence, he knew, it would disappear entirely. "Uncle Artemus mentioned you went to the shore."

"Yes. We did that. We took a picnic to the beach at Capitola. It was quite nice, though very foggy on that day. I don't mind the fog. I think I'd like to live on the shore one day."

Jim almost pointed out to her that he had asked her, when considering buying property in California, whether she would prefer to live on the ocean side of the mountains. At that time she had expressed a wish to be as near as possible to her Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus. What she was saying now, he decided miserably, was that she planned to live on the shore one day without her father.

"Was your trip successful, Daddy?"

"As much as such a trip can be, hon. All-day meetings."

"Well, it's nice that they still respect your opinions after all this time."

"Hey, you talk like I'm an old man!"

Her green eyes widened. "Well, gosh, Daddy, you are almost sixty!"

Jim laughed. He always enjoyed when she teased him, and he thought she enjoyed the moments too. In some ways it reminded him of himself and Artemus, always joking, almost as a cover for their real affection for each other. Yet he was never sure with Rory. Never had been, wondered if he would ever be. She rarely mentioned her mother now, but in her younger days her best weapon had been her accusation that he had deserted Margaret Allan, left her alone with a baby, and then to die.

Early on, after her initial shyness faded away, Rory had been rather demonstrative, always willing to share a hug, sit on his lap while he read and story to her. As time went on, perhaps as she became more cognizant of what had occurred between him and her mother, she began to ask more questions and throw accusations his way. Worse, no matter how he answered those questions and accusations, she never appeared to accept them as the truth. As far as Rory was concerned, James West was responsible for the death of her mother. Over the years, the situation had grown worse and worse.

__

I know I've spoiled her. Maybe Lily was right when she once asked me if I was trying to buy Rory's love. But I can't help it. I love her so dearly. I'd give her the moon in a golden bowl if it was possible. If only I could tell her. No, perhaps what I mean is, if only I could convince her. I don't know if Rory will ever comprehend how I truly feel about her.

Aurora West stole a look at her father. He was such a handsome man. When he visited her at the university, all the other girls gaped in admiration, and were envious of her. Both Aunt Lily and Uncle Artemus had told her that James West had always been popular with the ladies, and no wonder. He had looks and he had charm. At any social function he attended here, widows and spinsters vied for his attention. Even her mother had, apparently, succumbed to his allure. But why had Jim West not married Margaret Allan?

"Look there," Jim said, calling his daughter's attention to the vehicle on the road ahead of them.

"For heaven's sake, what's that?" Rory stared at the big closed-in wagon, like a box on wheels, grandly decorated with carved wooden furbelows and brightly painted pictures of flowers, elves, and toadstools. "A circus wagon?"

"Not likely. I think there'd be others if it was with a circus." He guided the light buggy alongside to pass the big wagon, nodded to the heavyset man at the reins. "Maybe a peddler's wagon, though they usually have a name and perhaps a picture of a product on the side."

"A gypsy wagon?" Rory leaned around the bonnet to peer back at the plodding vehicle.

"That's possible, though I haven't heard of gypsies in this part of California recently. Maybe just someone who likes boldly painted wagons."

WWWWWW

Inside the wagon, the shrunken figure of a man sidled away from the peephole and settled back on a soft chair, easing his aching legs by stretching them out on the ottoman. Thoughtfully, he lit a big cigar, and watched the smoke swirl above his head. _So that's Mr. West's daughter. Not surprising she is a beauty. Young and beautiful. James West is surely very proud of her, as well as fond, despite the circumstances. After all these years, I have found the perfect weapon to use against Mr. West. Even better than his partner. Aurora West is his blood. Perfect. Absolutely perfect._

Miguelito Loveless laughed, a cackling sound that reverberated in the small enclosure of the wagon. He knew he had done the right thing by staying out of sight all these years. Revenge was going to be all the sweeter for it.

WWWWWW

Rory was descending the stairs when she heard the knock on the front door. "I'll get it, Hannah!" she called toward the dining room where the housekeeper was busily dusting. They were not expecting guests, so very likely the caller was José or one of the hands. Rory always experienced an odd sense of pride that her father did not insist that the hired help use only the back entrances.

Thus, when she open the large heavy door, Aurora West was quite surprised to encounter a tall, blond, and very handsome young man with sky-blue eyes and a winning smile as he swept his hat off. "How do you do. I apologize in advance for the intrusion, but do I have the home of Mr. James West?"

Rory swallowed hard in a vain attempt to still her thudding heart. "Yes. Yes, you do. Mister.?

The smile increased. "My name is Derek Hagen. I'm a journalist. I'm hoping that Mr. West will allow me to write a book on his experiences."

"Oh." Rory was sure she knew the answer to that. Nonetheless, she could not allow this Adonis to escape that easily. "I I don't know. I'm his daughter. Aurora. I mean, they call me Rory." She was babbling and she could not stop under his amused but admiring gaze. He was, she decided, in his late twenties. No older, surely. "Please come in. I'll I'll find Daddy I mean, my father."

Rory escorted the visitor into the first parlor, wishing mightily that she had chosen to don a dress this morning rather than her trousers. She had seen the blue eyes sweep over her–though with no less appreciation–from her dusty boots to the shiny dark hair, which was trailing down her back today, held by a clasp at the back of her neck. She remembered to pause in the dining room to inform Hannah of the visitor and ask for coffee, then dashed out the back door.

"Daddy," she cried breathlessly upon finding her parent where she expected, where she had been planning to join him, in the barn shoveling manure out of the stalls, "you have a visitor!"

Jim West halted his labors and rubbed his shirtsleeve across his perspiring forehead. "Yeah? Uncle Artemus?" Artie had promised to come by to discuss the Loveless problem further.

"No. His name is Derek Hagen, he's a journalist, and he wants to write a book about you!"

Unfortunately her parent reacted just as she expected. He shook his head and picked up the pitchfork again. "Tell him thanks but no thanks."

"Daddy! You can at least talk to him. That would be the polite thing to do."

Curiosity, more than her plea to his gentlemanly nature, caused Jim West to lean the pitchfork against a stable wall and follow Rory back to the house. At her insistence, he paused in the kitchen to wash up as best he could, and even rolled his sleeves down, though he could discern that she wished he would race upstairs and don his best suit.

The man was comfortably seated in the first parlor, another indication that he was an honored guest insofar as Rory was concerned. Artemus and Lily, and others of their neighbors, always headed for the less formal room they called the "second parlor" on the opposite side of the foyer, where they could feel more at ease with its comfortable furnishings. Jim had furnished the "first parlor" with finer goods, on Hannah's advice. The room had been used on few occasions to entertain rather highly placed guests.

Rory eagerly made the introductions and Hagen shook Jim's hand heartily. "Mr. West, I can't tell you what an honor this is. I've heard so much about you."

"Thank you, Mr. Hagen. My daughter tells me you are a journalist." Jim did not miss how Rory's green eyes were fixed on the fine-looking fellow.

"Yes, sir. Lately, I have been an employee of the _New York Mirror_, but I retired from that paper and emigrated west, feeling I would find more opportunities here. I have thus far not obtained employment on a western newspaper, but one editor I spoke to suggested that if I could get an interview with James West, and convince him to allow me to write his story well, I'm sure you understand."

Before Jim could respond, Hannah entered bearing a tray of cups and a silver carafe. "Miss Rory asked for coffee," she said, a smile on her round dark face indicating she also understood why the young lady of the house wished to impress.

"Thank you, Hannah," Jim said, with a nod. He had hired Hannah when they relocated to California. She had soon come to the conclusion that Mr. West and his daughter could not manage without her. At times Jim was pretty sure she was right. Next to Lily, Hannah had become the most important older woman in Rory's life. The housekeeper had traveled to visit kin in southern California during Jim's recent trip to Mexico, which had been the primary reason why Rory spent the three weeks with the Gordon family.

The coffee seemed to require that they all sit down. Rory poured and served it, wishing again that today of all days she had not chosen to wear her normal working attire. They had had no idea that a visitor would arrive, especially one so devastatingly handsome.

"Mr. West," Hagen said once his coffee was properly sweetened, "I was told that you are very recalcitrant about publicity. But you must understand, your exploits are legendary. A book would be extremely popular and bring in a fine sum for all of us."

"I'm not interested in the money," Jim replied tersely.

"Wouldn't you like to leave a legacy for your lovely daughter?"

"This property will be her legacy."

"Mr. West, forgive me, but I'm talking about a different sort of legacy. The truth about your adventures. Many stories are out there, some published in newspapers, some not. It's the ones that are not, the ones that are simply circulated, that tend to warp the truth. For now, your reputation continues to be sterling. However, we all know what often occurs after a man has gone to his earthly reward. Dastardly money grubbers attempt to cash in on that reputation by soiling it, hinting at scandalous activities, merely to sell newspapers, or books. Do you want your legacy to be tarnished by that means?"

"To be frank, Mr. Hagen, I don't really care. I'll be gone. No, I have no interest in leaving any sort of personal memoir."

Hagen was not to be dissuaded so easily. He leaned forward slightly. "Mr. West, consider your daughter, her children, her children's children. Don't you want them to be able to hold their heads up when they claim you as their ancestor?"

Rory, sitting beside Jim on the couch, clutched his arm. "Daddy! Um Father, Mr. Hagen may be right. I mean, I know the truth, but what about when I'm an old lady, senile and unable to defend you!"

Jim did not laugh, though he felt like it. He patted her hand. "Don't worry, Rory. The story will get told. Your uncle has been working on it for years."

"Uncle?" Derek Hagen looked from one to the other, then nodded. "Oh. You must mean your former partner, Gordon."

"He's still my partner," Jim said mildly. Something about this fellow was irksome, perhaps only the way he kept looking at Rory. Hagen seemed to be insinuating that simply because they no longer worked together, Artemus Gordon and James West were no longer even friends. Whether he actually meant that or not

"Of course he is. But he was involved in all your exploits. There may come a time when people will read his account–if it is ever published–and toss it aside as biased. He may even exaggerate his own activities to the detriment of yours. Now if."

Carefully, Jim West placed his coffee cup and saucer on the small table beside his chair, then rose. He saw Rory's alarmed glance, and the surprise in Hagen's blue eyes. "Mr. Hagen, I thank you for your interest in this matter. I fully rely on and trust Mr. Gordon to present the incidents truthfully and, therefore, no other book will be needed. Especially not in competition with his. This is a working farm, and I am a working man. Allow me to see you to the door." He quelled the temptation to simply walk away. He did not want to leave Hagen behind alone with Rory.

"Rory, will you get Mr. Hagen's hat please?"

"Daddy," Rory began, but saw the implacable expression on her father's face. Her anger stirred, but she obeyed his order, rising to go to the hat tree in the foyer to procure the fine fedora. She knew that she would see Derek Hagen again. _Fate will not be so cruel as to deny us! _However, in the meanwhile, her father simply had to understand that she was not a child.

Rory smiled warmly at the man as he strolled down the paved stone path toward the gate and his waiting buggy, then waved as he drove off. As soon as he was on his way, she spun and raced back through the house, catching up with her father in the kitchen.

"Daddy!"

Jim paused with his hand on the screened door. Hannah was at the stove. She turned to watch, dark face somber. She had witnessed too many of these scenes.

"What is it, Rory?" Jim asked quietly.

"You were rude! Terribly rude!"

Jim cocked his head. "Was I? Seemed to me, he was the rude one, interrupting my day's schedule without a previous appointment. He's not the first man to approach me on this subject, Rory. But every other one has written to me first."

"And you always wrote back with a refusal. I think Mr. Hagen was being very very clever by not giving you the opportunity to say no without hearing him out."

"I didn't like what he said. I didn't have to hear anymore."

"Daddy, not everyone understands you and Uncle Artie. I mean, your friendship"

"Which is why Uncle Artie is writing the book and not some hack writer."

"Hack writer! Daddy, he's a journalist! He worked for a New York newspaper! At such a young age"

"Young? He's probably thirty-five." Jim glanced toward the housekeeper, saw her raised brows. Hannah agreed with him.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped back. "I'm sure he's not thirty. Probably closer to twenty-five. I think he's truly the most attractive man I ever met. And he likes me. I can tell."

"What about Jamie?" Jim asked then. "I thought you"

Rory made a dismissive motion with her hand. "Jamie is nice. He's more like like a brother. He's such a _boy_!"

"Rory, I realize Hagen is a very attractive man. But he's nearly twice your age. Trust me."

"Trust you!" Rory screeched. "The only thing I'd trust you with is to ruin my life! Daddy! It's almost the twentieth century! I'm a woman, not a little girl, and things have changed for women. We do have brains. I can make decisions and judgments!"

Jim kept his voice level. "Hagen was flirting with you, I know. But you've got to understand, Rory, he was doing it because he hoped you would influence me."

She threw her hands in the air. "Because I'm such an ugly hag, I suppose!"

"Of course, you know that's not true," Jim rejoined sharply. "I'm very aware that you are nearly nineteen. But as long as you live under my roof, you're going to obey my orders. I won't have you being chased by a man like that! Or for you to pursue him!"

Her green eyes were eyes of fire. "I know you hate me, Daddy. And I hate you!"

Jim West watched his daughter flee from the kitchen., then took a step to follow her before Hannah spoke. "Don't, Mr. Jim. You know why she's so upset? Because she knows deep down that you're right. That man is closer to forty than to twenty-five! He's one of those fellows that unless you look real close, that baby-face makes him look much younger."

Hannah laughed softly before she continued. "Goodness, I remember my daddy telling me the same thing about the rules of his house when I was going to run off and marry Hector Parrish back in Arkansas. I didn't like what Papa said about Hector, but I think way down deep inside, I knew it was true. He was a four-flusher, a cheat, a womanizer I obeyed my father, and on his deathbed, I thanked him for saving me."

Jim smiled ruefully. "I hope I don't have to wait until I'm ninety before Rory realizes I might have a brain cell or two."

Hannah laughed merrily. "Don't you fret, Mr. Jim. That girl ain't dumb. And don't you believe her when she starts that I hate you' stuff. All kids do that."

Jim thanked the housekeeper for her encouragement, and continued out the back door. Hannah was likely right, it would all blow over. Yet, every time something like this happened between him and his daughter, a new little hole seemed to be torn in his soul. He saw how both India and Jamie adored their parents, and displayed it often. Rory never behaved that way with him. As a small child, she had been somewhat more affectionate, but the older she got, the worse things had become. She

He halted halfway to the barn to watch the farm wagon approaching at a fairly rapid pace. Faster than usual. The man holding the reins was half standing as he worked guided the team. Jim walked swiftly out to meet him. "José? What's wrong?" They could not have finished with the fence yet.

The stocky Mexican jumped down after halting the team. "Señor West, I thought you should know we saw some men hiding in the eucalyptus grove."

Jim had warned his foreman to be on the alert for strangers and prowlers, although he had not given him all the details. "You sure it wasn't just vagrants?"

"Very sure. Skinny and I walked out toward them, and the men, they ran. No campfires."

Jim knew what he meant. Tramps had been known to occasionally hang out in that pleasant grove on the far northern edge of his property, but if they did, especially if there overnight, they built a fire. "See any of them close enough to get a description?"

"No. Like I said, soon as they saw us coming, they ran for their horses."

Jim West nodded. Another clue that they weren't the usual vagrants. "How many?"

"At least three."

"Might be nothing. But saddle my horse, José. I'll go tell Hannah where I'm going." He had also warned the housekeeper to be alert. Maybe the time had come to tell Rory about Loveless. No, not yet. Not until he was sure the danger was real.

Rory was standing at the open window of her room, allowing the breeze to cool her skin and her temper, when she saw her father riding out alongside José Morales, the farm's head man. The pace they were riding indicated some urgency. She had seen José driving in with the wagon, and thought he was coming a bit rapidly, but really had not considered it much. Other things were on her mind.

Even now, as the two riders disappeared beyond the nearest orchard, her thoughts returned to the situation at hand. Daddy was wrong. So very wrong. Derek Hagen was not that old. _Was he?_ She thought hard about the man who had been smiling at her in the parlor such a short while ago. Funny, she mostly remembered the smile and the blue of his eyes. Goodness, would she even recognize him if she saw him on the street?

Slim chance of such an encounter happening! Daddy was not usually so unfair. Surely he understood that Mr. Hagen was a young man trying to launch his career. James West had been in that position once. His talent as an agent had been recognized by General, later President, Grant, and his career had taken wing, to the point that he became the most recognized, respected, and feared agent in the United States' service. A book about such a man would bring fame and fortune to the writer.

Naturally, she had known that Uncle Artemus was penning such a book. She had heard her father and Artemus Gordon discussing it several times over the last several years. But he was taking so long! Quite possibly, Mr. Hagen's statement was correct, that the story would be slanted

Rory shook her head physically, turning away from the window. _No, Uncle Artemus would never do that._ _Mr._ _Hagen had made that comment in desperation. He did not mean it, certainly. Perhaps if he apologized Daddy would understand, and talk to him further._ _But how can I tell Mr. Hagen that? I don't know how to contact him!_

She found herself at her vanity, staring into the mirror there, at her own reflection, seeing the green eyes gazing back at her. Suddenly, Rory remembered the first time she had ever seen the man with the nearly identically green eyes, the day Mrs. Barrow came to fetch her, telling her that her daddy had come to take her with him.

Rory had been told that her mama had gone to heaven. She had not been entirely sure, at that age, what that had meant, although she remembered an old dog they had had who had suddenly not been around anymore. Mama had told her that old Spike had "gone to heaven." As far as little Rory had been concerned, Spike was just gone. And now Mama was gone. Rory had known her mother was very ill. Mama had told her that she would be going away. "But your daddy will come for you, Rory. He will take care of you. He's an honorable man."

"Honorable" really had no meaning to a four-year-old, other than Mama thought it was good. Having lived her first four years in virtual isolation with her mother, Rory had been more curious than apprehensive to meet this "daddy" who would take care of her. She was not even certain what a "daddy" was. So she had allowed Mrs. Barrow to lead her into the front room of the house in Antelope Wells, where she saw for the first time the handsome man with the green eyes. Her own eyes. Suddenly panicked, she broke free to race back into the little room she had been sharing with Mrs. Barrow's daughter, to the mirror on the wall. Only when she looked in that mirror and saw that her own eyes were still there did the panic subside. The new daddy had not stolen them out of her head.

She had never told anyone the story, not even her father. She thought he would laugh, not making fun of her, but in enjoyment. He had such a wonderful laugh. Yet she had not told him. She did not know why.

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon heard his wife call his name, so he pulled off the blasted spectacles and left them on his desk as he departed his upstairs study to descend the stairs. He was not the least surprised to see Jim West standing in the entryway. "Problem?" Jim's face revealed all.

"Not sure. Let's take a walk." Lily had already told him quietly, in answer to his query, that both the Gordon offspring were elsewhere in the house. Though Lily's face reflected some concern, she did not say anything as the two men went out the door. Artemus would tell her later.

"Three men," Jim said as they approached the corral. He had already tersely explained how José had come to fetch him and why. "From the number of cigarette butts scattered around, I'd say they had been there for a few hours."

"But why?"

Jim shrugged. "Watching?"

"But they couldn't see the house from there, Jim. Only the fields and the orchard."

"Yeah, I know. The only thing" He halted his words, unwilling to speak his fears aloud.

"What? Good Lord, Jim!" Artemus realized what Jim had been about to say. "Rory likes to ride into that grove!" She always said she loved the sound of the breeze in the leaves, the spicy scent of the eucalyptus in the warm sun. She liked to take a book and sit against a tree, reading. "Jim, you're going to have to tell her."

Jim raked his fingers through his hair. He had left home to too much haste to think about a hat. "I can't, Artie. Not right now. We just had a big row, and she'd likely think I was just trying to scare her."

"A row? What about?"

"Oh, some fellow showed up saying he was a writer and wants to write a book."

"About what?"

"Me. Don't worry, I told him I wasn't interested, and that you were already covering the subject. But he's a pretty good-looking man, and Rory noticed. He flirted with her. Hell, Artie, he's probably thirty-five if he's a day!"

"What's his name?"

"Derek Hagen. Said he used to work for the _New York Mirror._"

Artemus frowned. "Never heard of him. Have you checked?"

"No. I I thought about it. But I wouldn't want Rory to know." He looked at his friend hopefully.

Artie smiled now. "All right. But it'll have to be by telegraph, not that blamed telephone!"

"Thanks. It's probably nothing, but"

"But she's your daughter, Jim, and you need to be sure. You think he was considering doing more than flirting with her?"

"I don't know. Rory is a beautiful young woman. And she is a woman. I sometimes have to remind myself of that. She'll be nineteen in just a couple months." He looked toward the corral. The silken black colt was standing in the shade of a tree alongside its mother. The deal he was making with Artemus would allow for the colt to be Rory's birthday present. She had loved Blackjack, an aged horse at pasture when she was a small child.

"Tell her, Jim. As soon as you can. As you say, Rory is a woman. Almost considered an adult. She's also very intelligent and courageous. If she knows what's happening, she won't take foolish chances."

"Maybe. I'll I'll watch for my opportunity. There's Jamie."

Artemus turned to see his son striding from the house toward them. Lily claimed that their son was a duplicate of himself, the boy she had known in school especially. Sometimes Artie saw it, especially in the brown eyes and softly waved dark hair. Other times, however, James Artemus was his mother's son in every respect. He was much more introspective than his father had ever been. Jamie's ambition was to be a teacher, perhaps at university level, and everyone who knew him agreed he would be a good one, though a few of Lily's former colleagues, especially, suggested that young James would be excellent on the stage, considering the talents of both his parents. He had already won trophies for his orating talent in the forensic societies to which he belonged.

"Hello, Uncle Jim," the young man greeted. "I was hoping I could speak to you."

"Anytime, Jamie. What's up?"

"India and I plan to go see a ballet troupe that's appearing in San Jose. We hoped Rory could come along. It's a matinee. Day after tomorrow."

"Jamie," his father frowned, "you know what's been going on."

"Yes sir. I wouldn't let either girl out of my sight. Not for an instant."

Jim shrugged. "I expect it would be safe enough. I've already instructed José to make sure that someone shadows Rory any time she leaves the house. Perhaps" he looked at Artemus, who was nodding.

"I'll assign a couple of men to follow, out of sight. Neither India nor Rory need know. I do plan to tell India at least some of what's going on, but–I hope–not frighten her."

Jamie jammed his hands in his hip pockets, a frown on his handsome young face. "Papa has allowed me to read some of what he has written about your career, Uncle Jim, especially the parts about Dr. Loveless. He he must be crazy!"

"I'm sure he is. But he's also a brilliant man. If he had ever turned his talents toward the real betterment of the world, rather than his twisted ideas, who knows what he might have accomplished."

"He's too filled with hatred," Artie said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if it isn't self-hatred as much as anything else."

"Uncle Jim, do you really think he could still be alive? Papa told me about the fire and explosion."

Jim sighed. "I can't swear to anything. All I can do is tell you about the number of times we believed he had perished, only to have him pop up again. I guess I won't believe he's actually dead until I see the body."

WWWWWW

"That was so wonderful!" India sighed as she walked alongside her brother and Rory West. "I think I want to be a ballerina!" She twirled around, the full skirt of her pale pink summery dress flaring from the waist.

"I think you're too late," Jamie stated. "I know a fellow at the university whose sister is a dancer. She began training when she was a small child."

"Heavens, Jamie," Rory exclaimed, eyes twinkling, "we know that India is so talented she could master the steps in in days!"

"You're right, Rory! I should have thought of that. Tell Mom you want to enroll in the dancing school in San Francisco, India." They all laughed.

Jamie Gordon was feeling on top of the world just now. Although he regretted the necessity to have his sister along, he had spent the last few hours with Rory, a feat that was often hard to accomplish. Both attended the same university, however, they were at different levels and taking different courses, so getting together at "The Farm" was often very difficult. Even at home for the summer, was tricky. Jamie had not known that Rory West would be spending several weeks with his family when he planned his own excursion with friends.

He was sure she liked him, he simply did not know how well she liked him. At times he was certain she loved him as strongly as he knew he loved her. Then again she sometimes treated him like she might a brother. His own natural reticence prevented Jamie Gordon from declaring his feelings. Papa recommended biding his time, waiting until he graduated and had made inroads into his career. But it was so hard! What if someone else won Rory West's heart in the meanwhile?

"Oh, hush!" India retorted. Nonetheless, she liked it when Jamie teased her. He was, as she informed him many times, her big brother, and big brothers were supposed to tease younger siblings. "Jamie, can we get some ice cream before heading home?"

"Why not," he replied expansively. His father had given him funds for the tickets, and included a little extra. Taking the girls' arms, he escorted them into the soda shop a block down from the theater. As they paused, looking for a place to sit in the crowded establishment, he glanced back toward the window. "Oh! Rory, India, get a table and order whatever you want. And stay right here. Don't leave. I'll be back. I just saw Wilbur Bates across the street. He's in my forensics society and I need to talk to him about the debate scheduled for August!"

Before either could respond, Jamie dashed back out through the door. Rory shrugged and led the way among the occupied tables and chairs to a small table against the far wall. When the freckle-faced waiter came up, India requested a lemon phosphate, while Rory decided to stick to plain ice cream, vanilla.

"Those dancers were lovely, weren't they? Ballet is such a romantic dance. Daddy took me to a performance in Washington once, when I was just a little younger than you. I admit, I felt the same way. I _had_ to be a ballet dancer until I realized how much work was involved!" Rory giggled.

"I wish we lived in town," India sighed, gazing around. "We never get to see anyone."

Rory's chin came up. "You get to see _me!_"

India laughed. "Yes, but would your feelings be terribly hurt if I said you don't count? You what?" She noticed how her foster cousin's green eyes suddenly widened, and looked around. A very handsome blond man, smiling broadly, was approaching their table. "Who is that?"

Rory did not reply, coming to her feet. _He's here! I knew we would find each other again! It's fate, and meant to be!_ "Good afternoon, Mr. Hagen. How nice to see you."

He took her hand, bowed low over it, his eyes never leaving her face. "Good afternoon, Miss West. I could not believe my good fortune when I saw you enter. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Oh, no, of course not. Please join us. India, this is Mr. Derek Hagen. He's a writer and wants to do a book about Dad my father. Mr. Hagen, Miss India Gordon."

He took India's hand. "Miss Gordon, this is indeed a pleasure. I hope to speak to your father one day as well. I'm sure it will be part and parcel of writing the book about Miss West's father."

India kept her mouth shut. She had overheard her parents discussing this man after Uncle Jim departed a couple of days ago, and knew her father had sent a couple of telegraph wires about him. She had read the drafts of the messages on Papa's desk. Both Papa and Uncle Jim were suspicious of the man. As of this morning, he had not received any responses.

Hagen took one of the two vacant chairs, and leaned slightly toward Rory. "Miss West, have you by any chance had an opportunity to speak to your father on my behalf?"

Rory had to lower her eyes from his intense gaze for a moment. Was he asking about Daddy's cooperation on the book, or about interest in her? She decided it would be prudent to assume the former, though she was certain he meant both. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Hagen. My father has been very busy and we simply have not had an opportunity to converse." Not to mention she had been avoiding her father at all times except mealtimes, and even then she refused to talk to him any more than necessary. She had politely, and sarcastically, thanked him for allowing her to take this trek into the wilds of the big city of San Jose.

"Do you think you can persuade him? I truly believe I am the one who can write this book and make it a success. I'd be happy to talk to him about my work in New York. I failed to mention to him that I assisted another rather famous man to pen his memoirs. Ghostwriting it's called in that case." His hand moved to lay across the one she rested on the table.

Rory saw India's eyes widen with this gesture and knew she should not push India too far. India could keep a secret if asked, but she could also display great perceptiveness, considering her age. With a smile toward the handsome man, Rory withdrew her hand. "I don't know, Mr. Hagen. My father can be very stubborn at times. I would suggest that you write him and make an appointment, then bring some of your work. He cannot fail to be impressed." She did not want to tell him how angry her father had been with the presumptuous visit.

"Excellent idea. Thank you so much, Miss West. I just know this is going to work out, especially after encountering you here today. It's fate. Kismet. Now I'd better hie myself out of here before your beau returns." He got to his feet.

"My beau?" Rory looked up at him, baffled.

"The young man I saw you enter with. I'm sure you expect him to join you. He's not a fool."

"Oh. Oh, that's just India's brother. He escorted us to see the ballet matinee."

"I see. Only a friend, eh?" Once again his blue eyes fastened on her face.

Rory felt her cheeks warm under that intense gaze. "Yes, yes. A friend. More like family. Do you have to go, Mr. Hagen?"

"I must. I I don't suppose you'd take a little stroll with me."

With all her heart, Rory West wanted to say yes. But she saw India's expression out of the corner of her eye. "Thank you, but no. Perhaps another time."

Once more time he took her hand and bowed over it, this time bringing her fingers up to his mouth to brush his lips over them lightly. "Another time, Miss West. Our destiny ordains we will meet again. Miss Gordon." He nodded and strolled away.

Rory released a long sigh as she watched him leave the shop, but was called back to reality by India's sharp words. "Rory, for goodness sakes!"

Rory turned to her. "Isn't he just the most beautiful man you ever saw?" Her eyes were still filled with stars.

"He's old!"

"He is not! Don't be silly. Mr. Hagen is probably only six or seven years older than me. Just the right age."

"You're crazy. He's probably closer to twenty years older than you! For heaven's sake, Rory, you're not that stupid."

Rory's temper flared. "You sound like Daddy. I know _he_ hates me and doesn't want me to be happy. I think you're just jealous."

"Of what? Good heavens, Rory. You can be so dense sometimes. Uncle Jim doesn't hate you. He adores you. I've heard Mom and Papa say so!"

"Well, what do _they_ know? Your father would always take Daddy's side."

India sighed in exasperation, and rolled her eyes. "Honestly! Why would he hate you? What did you ever do to him? You're his _daughter!_ I know the circumstances about your mother. Uncle Jim did not need to take you in. But he did!"

"Because he's an honorable man. I know, I know. But think of the wonderful life he had before he was burdened with me! Free of such responsibilities. And if I had been a boy, at least he could have had someone to train to follow in his footsteps. He hates me, and I hate him. Just as soon as I finish school and can get a job, I'm leaving."

"What about Jamie?"

Rory looked at her. "What about Jamie?"

Again India sighed, but did not say anything further when she spotted her brother entering the soda shop. Good thing he had not returned while Hagen was here. _I just hope I'm not as dumb as Rory when I get old like her!_

WWWWWW

Jim went out onto the porch to greet his friend. He watched Artemus dismount, and frowned slightly as he saw the slowness of his movements. Artie had never been the best rider in the world, but he did know what to do with a horse. Jim did not like to consider that his best friend was getting old. Somehow the age difference had not mattered all that much when they were younger. It was showing more and more now.

"Hey, Jim," Artemus greeted, coming through the gate. "The kids just arrived back at my place. Lily is going to serve them iced tea and keep Rory there a short while."

"What's up?" Jim led the way inside, into the comfortable and homey "second parlor."

Artemus settled into his favorite easy chair as Jim sprawled on the sofa. "I finally got some answers about Hagen. Seems a Derek Hagen _did_ work for the _Mirror_. However"

Jim waited. "However?"

"He quit a few months ago, claiming that he wanted to seek greener pastures."

"Interesting." Jim was bemused to learn that Hagen's story appeared to be true. "Go on."

"What's even more fascinating is that I decided to request a description of their Derek Hagen. Seems he was around fifty, bald, wore thick-lensed glasses."

"Aha!" Jim got up, went to the sideboard to pour himself a small whiskey, and a glass of wine for his friend. Lily, along with Artie's doctor, had persuaded him to lay off hard liquor. "So who the hell is _this_ Derek Hagen, and what does he want?"

"That's the scary part, Jim. Damn scary. Is he simply an opportunist, a con artist? Or"

Jim West dropped back on the sofa. "Or is he one of the little doctor's minions? Damn! Maybe I should have played along with him!"

"Well, don't worry, he's still around. India whispered to me that he showed up at the soda shop in San Jose this afternoon. Jamie apparently stepped out to speak to a friend, and Hagen–or whoever he is–sauntered over to speak to Rory."

"And pound a couple more nails in my fatherly coffin," Jim growled.

"Jim, I keep telling you, Rory might be infatuated, or think she is, but that's about all it is."

"Thanks. I appreciate your encouragement, Artie. Right now, I think we'd better try to find out just who this Hagen is. Suggestions?"

"Only thing I can think of, now that we know he's in San Jose, is to contact the police there and ask them to keep an eye out for him, watch him as much as possible. If we can find out where he's staying"

Jim nodded, aware of what Artemus was inferring. Would not be the first time in their long career that they snooped in someone's hotel room. Despite the improvements in communications across the country over the years, with more telegraph lines and the telephone, getting information on an individual was often difficult, especially when one had little to go on in the first place. If they could find a name, or a hint of a name, they could contact other larger official entities, especially in New York City.

He smiled then as he gazed at his friend. Artemus, in turn, frowned. "What are you looking at?"

"I was just remembering the number of times you put on tons of makeup and wigs to make yourself look like you do now!"

"All right, James, all right. I'll let _you_ climb through the window."

"I'm not even sure I'm up to that, pal. When I think of the scrapes we used to get into"

"Yeah. How the hell did we live to get this old?"

Jim stared into the thus untouched amber liquid in his glass for a moment. "It's not the same, Artie. I don't feel in control anymore. Been too long. Hell, I haven't even touched a gun in years other than the shotgun to chase off the coyotes that were after Hannah's chickens."

"I know. But if it is Loveless we have to stop him, Jim. He may be after us, but he surely has other plans. World-conquering plans."

"Yeah. The world our kids expect to live in for a long while yet."

WWWWWW

"You are doing an excellent job, Alex. Do you think you'll be able to persuade the young lady to meet you?"

Alex Johnson alias Derek Hagen smiled, sipping the fine brandy the doctor had served him. "I have no doubt of that. The biggest problem is getting to her. I may have to make another bold foray directly to the West home, and hope her papa isn't around."

"Yes, I understand that. Now you realize that we have a certain amount of free time, but there is a deadline. I cannot live in this box forever." Loveless waved his hands toward the walls of the wooden wagon that surrounded him.

"I recognize that, doctor. But it's also important not too arouse suspicion, as you have told me many times. My cover is perfect. Even if West gets the notion to contact the _Mirror_, he'll get confirmation of my story and the real Derek Hagen will never be able to refute it."

Loveless scowled. "Don't be so cocky, Alex. You don't know West and Gordon like I do. They don't always think like other lawmen. Never underestimate them. I want you to work as swiftly as possible to gain the girl's confidence. Once you do, you know what to do. I have the arrangements all made. For the first time, I'll have James West on his knees."

WWWWWW

The next few days were quiet at the West and Gordon homes. Jim and his daughter attended the picnic sponsored by the Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic. The affair was held in Lily's lovely garden to benefit orphans as well as widows of Civil War veterans. This was a topic close to the hearts of her husband and his friend, who as veterans were active members of the society that had formed to allow former comrades to stay in touch, and assist those in need. Lily knew, however, that despite his interest in helping his former comrades-in-arms and their families, Jim West attended the affair primarily because his daughter did. Both Rory and India had become very active in the junior auxiliary of the society, and both performed in the entertainment presented this day.

One reason that Jim disdained such affairs, Lily had become aware, was that he often became the focus of attention, not only of the men who wanted to meet the famous agent, but the women, in particular the single ones, who believed, and hoped, that each might finally be the one who would walk down the aisle with the handsome bachelor. They flocked to him, regardless of age, from the young schoolteacher to Mrs. Deverey, the fine-looking widow. Jim was always his charming self, but Lily knew he was not going to give his heart away now.

Rory saw the two ladies who planted themselves on chairs near where her father was seated, attempting to engage him in conversation, giggling and batting their eyes. _Silly women! If they knew Daddy as well as I do, they wouldn't waste their time._ He had not married the mother of his child. Why would he marry any of them?

Several years ago, on a quiet rainy afternoon, Aunt Lily had told Rory about the one woman Uncle Artemus had believed Jim West would have eventually married, had she lived. "She was beautiful, intelligent, and very courageous," Lily Gordon said, "and she died saving Jim West's life." Aunt Lily had also tried to reassure Rory that had he known about his child, Jim West would have returned to New Mexico. "Not simply to do the right thing,'" Lily said. "He cared about Margaret Allan. Perhaps he did not love her as he had loved Cinnia O'Donnell, but women like Cinnia do not come into a man's life every day. Margaret was a different sort of courageous woman, taking her destiny into her own hands. Jim admired that."

Rory found she wanted to believe Aunt Lily. She also often wished she had the courage to ask her father more about his feelings for Margaret Allan, as well as learn about Cinnia. She never had, and sometimes wondered exactly why. _Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe I don't want to forgive him. Maybe it's easier to. _She sighed deeply when these thoughts wandered through her mind. Growing up was so difficult. One had to consider so many different things. Being a child had been so much easier. Even while harboring doubts about her father's affection, the one thing she had always known for certain: he would be there when she needed him. Now she was not as sure.

Jim West stood off to the side of the small platform Artie had had his men construct, where different persons had stepped up to sing, or play a musical instrument, or recite. India had played her violin under her proud father's eye, and now Jim was watching and listening with equal pride as Rory West recited selected passages from Whitman's "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," a poem that had deep meaning to Union veterans, an homage to a much admired man, Abraham Lincoln.

Rory had inherited her mother's love of books. Jim remembered those long days in the secluded mountain cabin, when he had been too weak to do much of anything other than lie in bed, while Margaret read to him. As his strength returned, they took turns reading. During one of those sessions, while Margaret was sitting alongside him on the bench outside the cabin, reading quietly, something unstoppable had been generated between them, and soon she was in his arms.

__

If only I had known

But that was long passed, and could not be changed. He sometimes wondered whether, had Margaret not become ill, she would have ever informed him about Rory. He hoped she would have. He could not now imagine his life without the slender young lady with the rich dark hair and clear green eyes. He wished he was brave enough to risk her repudiation by telling her all this.

In the ensuing uneventful days, Lily continued to plan for her son's birthday festivities. Last year, Jamie's parents had intended to have a large party when he turned twenty-one, but the week before the big day, the young man had suffered an attack of appendicitis and spent the next month or so recuperating from the surgery. At that point, he had departed on a previously planned trip to Canada with friends, returning only in time to head back to Stanford. They hoped to make amends this year for the lack of a celebration of that milestone birthday.

At the West home, a different kind of quiet prevailed. Aurora West continued to punish her father for what she perceived as his intent to ruin her happiness. Rory had not had an opportunity to request India to not mention the encounter in the soda shop. While India had not said anything when Jamie joined them, she obviously told her parents later, who relayed the information to James West. Every day, when the mail arrived, Rory was further dismayed that no letter had been forthcoming from Derek Hagen, addressed to her father, or possibly herself. Had he left the area?

Now Daddy had come up with this ridiculous story about some old enemy who had come back from the dead to threaten him and Uncle Artemus. The threat included their families, Daddy said. He also tried to tell her that Derek Hagen might be an imposter, even a criminal. That, she knew, was utter nonsense. How could a man with such a fine appearance be anything but a gentleman?

Perhaps worst of all, now she was being guarded! Every time she left the house, someone was shadowing her, especially if she saddled her pinto and rode out among the orchards, a favorite pastime now that the trees were leafing out and the fruit was starting to set. She loved the springtime when the trees were in blossom, but something about the interim between blossoming and the harvest appealed to her as well.

Was it because the analogy was appropriate to her own situation? She had blossomed, she was a woman, no matter how much Daddy tried to deny it. Now the harvest was ahead of her, and perhaps Derek would be the one to pluck the fruit. When such thoughts occurred to Rory West, no matter that she was entirely alone and no one else knew what she was thinking, she always felt her face heat. At those times she was glad that her skin did not usually redden externally!

In any case, Rory's mission now was to evade the farmhands–obviously acting on Daddy's orders–who followed her every time she rode away from the house. She was absolutely certain that that would be necessary in order for Derek to approach her. She knew he would. He might be out there watching

Derek could not possibly know that she loved spending time among the fragrant eucalyptus trees, could he? This was another warning her father had extended: some men had been seen loitering in the grove. She was to avoid that area for the time being. Of course, she disregarded his command. If Derek was truly interested, being a journalist, he would know how to gain information of any kind, even her preferences.

Rory pulled back on the reins and stared toward the grove of eucalyptus trees that sat on the western edge of the property, just where the land rose up into the foothills. The West property actually extended into the hills beyond, but that land was useless except as a place to cut firewood. Her father had plans to eventually clear some of it to grow more grapes, but for the time being, he preferred to keep it as what he called a buffer zone.

When Jim West bought the Santa Clara Valley farm, it already had a mature orchard as well as a couple of acres of grapevines. Lyle Peters, India and Jamie's step-grandfather, whom Rory also addressed as Grandpa (much to Uncle Artemus's utter delight, Rory was aware, primarily because Lyle was just a couple of years older than himself), had entered into a partnership with Jim where the grapes were concerned. He knew not only about grape growing and harvesting, but about winemaking. Last year, the West-Peters label had formally been inaugurated, and Rory was aware of how proud her father was of the vintage, and how well it had been received.

After a moment, Rory sighed, and reined her pinto around, resisting the temptation to see what would happen if she indeed rode into the grove. Not that she expected any outlaws to leap out and kidnap her. No, her thoughts had been on the possible actions of the man following her. She thought it was Skinny, her favorite among the four permanent hired hands on the farm. Skinny always had a silly story for her, especially when he perceived that she was feeling down. Just yesterday he had had her giggling over a tale about a donkey he had once owned. She did not want to cause trouble for Skinny. Nor for any of the hired men, actually. Daddy was the one at fault.

Glancing back toward the grove, Rory abruptly halted her pinto. _What was that?_ Something white was fluttering on the edge of a manzanita bush growing under the trees. Almost looked like a scarf or handkerchief or something. It had not been there moments ago. Her heart thudding with excitement, Rory made the decision: she _had_ to find out what that was. Skinny was nearby. Nothing could happen.

So she rode slowly back toward the grove, glancing behind her more than once to detect the form of the lanky hand, also mounted, back among the apricot trees. Nearer the wood, Rory stopped her horse and called out. "Hello! Is someone there?"

She peered into the depths of the copse, but detected no movement. Her pinto did not react as though sensing man or beast in that direction either, although several times he flicked his ears and looked back toward where her shadow was lurking. Rory knew she had to move fast. She jumped to the ground and raced to the bush, at the same time hearing a shout behind her along with the rapid approach of hoof beats.

Rory quickly untied the silk scarf from the bush, immediately aware that something stiffer, a piece of paper, was enclosed within its folds. Extracting the paper, she stuffed it into her trouser pocket and turned to face the oncoming rider with an innocent expression.

"Hello, Skinny. I thought you were helping with trimming the grapevines."

The lanky man dismounted. "Miss Rory, what in the world was you doing? Mr. West says you ain't to go near this place."

"Oh, I know, Skinny. I wasn't going to. But I saw this" she held up the scarf and it fluttered in the breeze. "It was caught on the bush here. I suppose someone lost it and the wind carried it. It's lovely. I may ask Hannah to wash it and iron it for me." She casually folded it and stuck it into the pocket with the paper. _He was here! He left it for me. I know it! I know it!_

"If'n you want to get on your pony again, Miss Rory, I'll see you back home."

"Oh, that's sweet of you," Rory cooed, climbing into the saddle again. She wanted desperately to see what was in the note, but that would have to wait until she had some privacy, probably in her room. "I know Daddy is terribly worried these days." Even as she said the words, a vision of her father's face flashed into Rory's mind, and she knew she was speaking the truth. Deep shadows resided in Daddy's green eyes lately. At times she wondered if her "cold shoulder" treatment was even registering.

WWWWWW

"Artemus! Artemus! Telephone!" Lily stood on the porch, cupping her hand about her mouth, and calling urgently.

Muttering under his breath about doggoned contraptions that were ruining his life, Artemus headed for the house, with his son and Jim following. The three men had been well away from the house, discussing the current situation when Lily's summons came. Occasionally Jim wondered if Artie might have a bit of a hearing problem that affected his hearing well on the instrument. All he knew for certain was that Artemus Gordon hated talking on the telephone.

But when Jim and Jamie reached the house, he was at the wall-mounted phone in the foyer, leaning one hand against the wall, talking loudly into the speaking tube, and saying, "What? What was that?" several times. Jim saw how Artie's face grew grimmer and grimmer.

Unfortunately, the commotion had drawn India from wherever she had been. The girl stood by her mother, listening and waiting. Even she could discern that something serious was occurring, and her pretty face reflected her concern.

Finally Artemus hung up the receiver and turned. "That was Captain Murphy of the San Jose police. Loveless was spotted near Los Gatos day before yesterday."

"Dr. Loveless!" India cried in alarm. "Is he really here?"

Lily put an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "I'll explain later, dear. Let your father finish."

"Reputable eyewitness?" Jim asked.

Artie nodded. "A constable. He was later shown a picture of Loveless and is one hundred percent certain that was the man he saw. Seems a circus wagon of some sort was spotted abandoned in a vacant field, and the constable went to Jim?" Artemus saw the stricken expression on Jim West's face.

"The day I returned from Mexico, when Rory and I were going home, we passed a circus wagon–or at least a brightly painted wagon–on the main road. My God, I never realized!" _Was I that close to him, never suspecting?_

Something tightened in Artemus Gordon's stomach. He was more than aware of what this might impute: Loveless was and had been watching! "In any case, the constable inspected the wagon, found some furniture inside, but no persons. Obviously someone had been living in it, but nothing indicated who that was. He was preparing to return to town to arrange it to be towed it out of the field, when he saw two men at the edge of the woods nearby. When they appeared to realize he had spotted them, they ducked. He took a look around, but the brush is thick through there, and they had vanished. One was a small man. Seems the constable has excellent eyesight even at a fair distance, and he got a very good look at the smaller man's face."

Jim West clutched his fists tightly at his sides. "Los Gatos. How far from my place?" His property abutted the hills near where the mountain town was located.

"I don't know. All the captain said was near Los Gatos.' He also said that he can't find Derek Hagen. A man of his description is not registered at any of the hotels in San Jose."

Jim was not surprised. They had received the same report from virtually every law enforcement agency in the valley. No one fitting Derek Hagen's rather distinctive appearance was found to be residing in any hotel or boarding house in the region. "Did the constable have a description of the man with Loveless?"

Artie shook his head. "Just a taller man, wearing a hat. Western style hat. He did not get a good look at him. Both men ducked when they realized they were spotted, but the bigger man moved faster. Constable said he thought that Loveless was using a cane, maybe two."

"Not surprising. He always did have problems with his legs." Jim looked around at the somber-faced group in the foyer, then fastened his gaze on Artemus. "What do we do now?"

Artie sighed. "Stay alert. The police are putting out a notice. Now that his apparent hiding place has been discovered, Loveless will need to find new quarters."

"It's not likely," Jim said slowly, thoughtfully, "that he was spending his entire time in that wagon. Not Loveless. He has another place."

Gordon was nodding. "It's not like him to be far away from a laboratory. Someplace where he can cook up another of his nefarious schemes."

"Now that the police know about him," Jamie put in, "they'll find him, won't they?"

His father put a hand on his son's shoulder. "James, my boy, nothing is definite where Miguelito Loveless is concerned. He is not, nor ever has been, an ordinary man. In some instances, he is quite predictable. Not in the most useful instances, however."

"What do you mean?" India inquired.

"Your father means that just about the only predictable thing about Loveless," Jim replied, "is that he will do the unpredictable, the unexpected. He probably has another scheme to conquer the world, or perhaps merely to regain what he considers his property in California. But _how_ he would do that is the problem."

"With him being out of sight for so long, we don't know how he is fixed financially or anything else," Artie mused. "Jim, it's entirely possible that his only mission right now is revenge."

"Possible, yeah. But probable? I don't know, Artie. He has always been single-minded where his obsessive claim to most of California is concerned."

"True enough. Jim, I have a thought. Why don't both you and Rory move in over here until this is cleared up."

Jim West was surprised. "Both of us? I'd be very happy to send Rory over. I can't be in the house constantly, and I don't like the idea of her being there with only Hannah, no matter how many guards I leave outside."

"Both of you," Lily seconded her husband. "In the first place, Rory might be more amenable if she realizes you are coming, too." She held up her hand to forestall the protest she saw that Rory's father was about to make. "What I mean is, she might not consider it just another ploy to ruin her life."

Jim laughed ruefully. "Yeah, maybe." He glanced toward the door that they had left open behind them. He could see the lengthening shadows. "Likely too late to do it today, but we'll load up the wagon and show up tomorrow morning."

"Will you need any help, Uncle Jim?" Jamie inquired. The query was polite, even innocuous, until one saw the hope in the youth's brown eyes.

Therefore, Jim West nodded. "Why don't you come on over first thing in the morning, Jamie. If I know Rory, she'll want to bring the entire contents of her wardrobe."

WWWWWW

Rory West was sprawled on her back atop her bed when she heard her father calling to her from downstairs. The precious note was clutched against her bosom as she read and reread the memorized lines in her mind, and elatedly considered what it meant. _He_ wrote it. _He_ cared enough to learn about one of her favorite places, and to linger there, waiting to either meet her or leave the signal that would draw her to the grove. And now

"Rory! It's important!"

Discerning that her father was climbing the stairs, Rory rolled off the bed to quickly secrete the note and the scarf in the bureau drawer where she kept her lingerie. If Skinny had told Daddy about the scarf, she would be able to retrieve it from the drawer without revealing the note. She then went to open her door just as her father appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Rory, please come downstairs. We need to have a talk. We're going to go stay with the Gordons for awhile."

Closing her door behind her, Rory followed him, dumbfounded. "We? Both of us?"

"Both of us." He led her into the second parlor, where Hannah was already waiting. "I asked Hannah to join us, because in a sense, it involves her as well."

Rory rolled her eyes. "I suppose it has something to do with that Loveless fellow again." She plopped herself in the large chair Uncle Artie usually favored.

"It does. Sit down, Hannah." Jim took a seat on the sofa. "Loveless has been spotted, Rory. A policeman saw him and identified him from a picture. He's in the valley."

"Oh, Mr. Jim!" Hannah cried, clutching her hands together. "Will he hurt you?"

"Not if I can help it. Every officer in the region is on the lookout for him. But Mr. Gordon and I decided we'd be better off if we pooled our forces, so to speak. Rory and I are going to go stay at their home until Loveless is caught. Hannah, I'll leave it up to you what you want to do. Mrs. Gordon said you are welcome there as well. I don't think that Loveless will bother you, and I'll be leaving José and all the hands here."

"I'll stay," the housekeeper said firmly. "I'd just like to see that wicked little man try to get into my kitchen!"

Jim smiled briefly. "Thank you." He turned his attention to his daughter. He had thought he viewed a glimmer of alarm in her face when he first spoke, but now she was slumped down and sulking. "Rory, pack whatever you need for about a week. I can always come back and get whatever you miss but"

Rory straightened in the chair. "Daddy, I am _not_ going! That's ridiculous! Why should we be afraid of shadows?"

"Miguelito Loveless is not a shadow, Rory. He's very real. He may try to get at me through you."

"Well, that would be a big mistake, wouldn't it? You'd be happy to let him have me!"

"Miss Rory!" Hannah cried, anger on her face and in her tone. "That's an awful thing to say! This terrible man wants to kill your father."

Rory had seen, and truthfully, had been a little surprised by the expression she saw wash over her parent's face with her spiteful words. Almost as though she hurt him. That usual stony face had returned quickly enough. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, and was further surprised to realize she meant it.

Jim said, "We'll wait until morning to go. I've alerted José and a guard will be on duty at all times tonight."

__

Oh no! Rory dropped her gaze quickly lest her father and the housekeeper witness her dismay. The news that they would not be going until morning was good, but not about the guard. Then again, very likely she could elude the guard, especially on foot. The eucalyptus grove was not that far away. If she was able to get out of the house in time, she could make it. She had to! This might be her only opportunity. Once ensconced at the Gordon home, she would never be able to escape. She _had_ to find out what Derek wanted, and in particular, to learn about her future with him, if one existed. Because of her father's hardheadedness, Derek could not come to the house. _Daddy just doesn't understand!_

"I'll go start packing, Daddy," Rory said, getting to her feet. "It's very nice of Uncle Artemus and Aunt Lily to invite us."

"Yes, it is," Jim replied, slightly bemused. After her sarcastic retort, she seemed to have grasped the seriousness of the situation. He had decided not to mention just yet the gaudy wagon and the fact that Loveless may have been so close to them. Perhaps in the morning when they were on their way to Artie's home would be a better time. He did not want to frighten her into not sleeping well.

WWWWWW

Not surprisingly, Jim West had a restless night. He could have laughed at himself had not the situation been so serious. Recalling all the times in the past when he had faced life-threatening danger, looking death in the face numerous times, this sort of thing should have been mundane. Never before, however, had someone so dear to him been threatened. Jim had no doubt that, given the opportunity, Loveless would try to use Rory against him.

So he dozed and roused, sometimes going so far as to get out of bed and look out the window, or open his door to peer down the darkened hallway and listen. In every case, all was silent and still, even the time in the early morning hours when he had been certain he heard a stealthy footstep out in the hallway. On that instance, Jim went to his daughter's room, quietly opened the door, reassuring himself she was still under her blankets, her dark hair stark against the pale linen of her pillow.

When dawn finally broke, Jim rose, washed up, shaved and dressed, then went downstairs, where he was not surprised to find Hannah already in the kitchen, with an aromatic pot of coffee going. He poured himself a cup, and smiled inwardly remembering how startled the newly-hired housekeeper had been several years ago when her employer not only helped himself but sat down at the work table to chat with her.

"Still plan to stay on here, Hannah?" he asked as she busied herself with his breakfast.

"Surely, Mr. Jim. That old Loveless fellow, he doesn't want me! Though I will tell you, I will worry myself to death until this is all settled. I certainly don't know how you chased fellows like that all those years."

"I was a lot younger then," Jim replied. Younger, freer, with no one's life to worry about except his own, and occasionally Artemus. His partner, however, had known the odds, had known the situation, as well as he did. They both had had a choice. Their children did not.

Jim knew that things changed for him the day he learned he had a daughter. He had continued to take chances, but they had been more studied risks, probably never as foolhardy as those he had formerly taken. The little green-eyed girl with the dark and shiny curls was always in his mind. For her he had stepped down from active service earlier than he might have otherwise. For her, he left the agency altogether, except in an advisory capacity.

__

For Rory, and I still don't know whether she truly looks upon me as her father, or simply the man who sired her, the man who puts food in her mouth and clothes on her back. Worse, I'm afraid to ask, afraid to tell her how I feel. Cowardice, to be sure.But he would need a different sort of courage than he had ever possessed to broach the subject.

By the time he finished his breakfast, Rory had not appeared. "Hannah, would you go ask José to hitch up the buggy and bring it around to the front? My horse too. I'll go see what's keeping Rory. Jamie is going to show up at any time, and she'll have kitten britches if he sees her before she's all washed and combed."

Hannah laughed. "That's for sure! I'll do that, Mr. Jim."

Jim experienced no sense of alarm when he received no response to his rap on his daughter's closed door. When he did not hear his daughter call out upon the second knock, he spoke her name, first quietly, then more loudly. In the ensuing silence, he grasped the latch and opened the door carefully, more puzzled than anxious.

His first thought was that she was still sleeping soundly. Almost instantly, however, the sunlight through the window revealed what he had not discerned last night. The "dark hair" he had believed he saw against the white pillow was not Rory's tresses, but the black shawl he had recently brought from Mexico, with the fringes arranged to appear like mussed curls.

"My God," he breathed, striding in to the room and jerking back the blankets. The form he had seen was simply extra pillows arranged under the covers. "Rory!"

For a long moment, Jim West stared about the room, expecting his daughter to jump out of the wardrobe or the adjoining dressing room, laughing at his consternation. When nothing happened, he checked both of those possible hiding places, his heart thudding as he continued to call her name, begging her to respond to him. He then looked into a couple other usually vacant rooms before racing downstairs.

Hannah was just coming back into the kitchen. She halted short to stare at him. "What's wrong, Mr. Jim?"

"Did you see Rory out there?"

"No. Is she she's not upstairs?"

"No." Jim raced by her to run to the barn. The fact that her pinto was in its stall was no comfort. His next step was to call his four men together, rousing the one who had been on guard last. All swore they had not seen Rory during the night, but they also admitted they could not be watching every door at every moment. They usually had moved around restlessly to try to keep an eye on all angles , as well as to keep themselves awake.

Hannah emerged from the backdoor of the house and rushed toward them. She had checked Rory's closets: the girl's trousers and boots were gone, but so was the frock that Jim had purchased for her last month, the one with the emerald green sash, along with some good shoes.

Jim raked his fingers through his hair. "She's gone to meet someone. Hagen! But how?" He turned to Skinny. "You're sure she didn't speak to anyone yesterday?"

"No, sir. All she did was go get that scarf, like I told you."

"Somehow, Hagen got word to her." Hearing a horse approaching, Jim spun, his heart lurching with hope. Jamie Gordon rode into view. His eyes widened as he neared the group of men and the housekeeper.

"Uncle Jim? Has something happened?"

Jim went to him, stopping him from dismounting. "Rory's missing, Jamie. She apparently sneaked out during the night, and didn't return. Go back and get your dad and any men he can spare. Ask him to send someone for the sheriff. We're going to start a search."

Jamie leaned down. "Is is she all right?"

Jim saw the fear and grief on the youth's face. "I'm sure she will be. You know Rory. She's probably feeling stupid and embarrassed to come home. Go on now. Sooner we get started, the better." He wished he felt as confident as his words sounded.

José found the bundle of clothes, just inside the eucalyptus grove. The white dress and emerald sash wrapped around a pair of dancing shoes. Jim took the items from his foreman, held them a moment, and gathered himself. "Search this area. Foot by foot. Be careful not to trample any signs."

Artemus and six of his hands arrived shortly, with word that Jamie had gone for the law. Artie set his men to work searching. "Jim, what do you think?"

"I think that bastard Hagen got to her somehow, sent her a message to meet him."

"But how? We know he approached her in the soda shop, but India was with them the entire time, and she knows nothing happened. How could he have gotten close to her since that time?" Gordon's face registered his bewilderment.

"Only thing I can figure is it happened yesterday. I had Skinny following her. She came here to the grove, but didn't go in at first, started to leave. Then Skinny saw her head back and pick up something. She showed him a white scarf. But there must have been more to it."

"An invitation to meet him. Good Lord, Jim. If he's with Loveless"

"Don't even say that, Artie. Don't even think that."

A posse of fifty men scoured the area until well into the afternoon, finding no sign of Rory West. The tracks of several horses were found on the other side of the grove, along with a few boot heel indentations, but none small enough to have been made by a young woman. Jim knew that could have been because she was carried.

An exhausted Jim West called off the search as the afternoon waned. He did not want to, but he knew the whole thing was an exercise in futility. Miguelito Loveless had his daughter. The next move would be the doctor's.

Artemus Gordon and his son returned to the West home with Jim. Lily and India were there on the porch, along with Hannah, and Jim knew the instant he saw their faces what had happened. "Who was here?"

"A man I never saw before, Jim. Big burly fellow. He left this." She extended a white envelope.

He took the envelope and walked by them into the house, into the second parlor. There he stood, staring at the gaping darkness of the cold fireplace, the envelope in his hand. He did not move until Artemus came alongside and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Jim."

"Read it, Artie. I can't."

Artemus reluctantly took the envelope. On the front was written in spidery but neat hand, "Special Agent James T. West." Carefully he peeled back the flap and withdrew a slip of fine linen-weave paper, on which more was written in the same hand. Quietly, Artemus read: "Mr. West. To save your daughter's life, come alone at 10 o'clock tonight to Saratoga Road near the old burned out barn, and walk south. You will be met. If you are not alone, she will die instantly. Yours respectfully, Dr. Miguelito Loveless, Ph.D., M.D., L.L.D., Lit.D., etc."

Artie lifted his gaze. "Jim, no. You can't."

James West's face was stony. "I can't do anything else. You know he'll do it, Artie. He'd kill her and laugh all the while, simply because of what it would do to me. It's my fault. I have to get her out of there."

"You can't go alone," Lily protested.

"You heard the instructions," Jim replied dully. "I have to. Loveless will have men watching. If they spot anyone within half a mile"

"Okay, okay!" Artemus stopped his words, holding up a hand. "Loveless will be expecting someone to help, someone to be spying. We've got to outsmart him again, Jim. One more time. That's all. Just one more time!"

The words penetrated the painful fog in Jim's head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we need to go back to my place and get a trunk out of the attic."

WWWWWW

"There, there, young lady. You must not be so distraught. No harm will come to you. Your dear father will see to that."

Rory West lifted her tear-streaked face as she huddled on the floor of the small barred cage into which she had been thrust. "How can you do this?" she demanded. "How can you be so cruel?"

Miguelito Loveless assumed a posture of affront. "I? Cruel? My dear girl, your father is the cruel one. Time and time again he has prevented me from assuming my rightful place as the don of the greatest estate in the world, _Estado del DeVega_. My ancestral home. The home that was wrenched from my mother's family by the usurpers who called it California."

Rory gazed at the little man as he leaned heavily on two canes. She had seen him moving about the expanse of the enormous room, and knew he was in agony. It showed on his face. Yet he never made a sound. She had once seen a photograph on an old wanted poster, and while Loveless still resembled that picture, he had also greatly changed. His longish hair was snow white, but the ravages of time had altered his face. Time and pain, she suspected.

"Your ancestors stole the land from the Indians who lived there originally," she rebutted.

Loveless glared at her. "Pooh. They were not capable of tending the land as well as I shall. It will be a wonderland, Miss West. A place where children and animals can live and play in joyful peace."

Rory scrambled to her feet, clutching the bars. "How can you speak of joy and peace when you want to murder my father!"

"Ah, you are your father's daughter. Spirited. I like that. I don't suppose no. I guess not. But as I told you, Jim West has foiled me too many times. I have to remove him from the scene. Mr. Gordon, also. I have another plan in mind for him, once your dear pater is out of the scene." Loveless turned his head and barked out a word. "Alex!"

The blond and handsome man sauntered toward the cage from the shadows where only the glow of the tip of his cigar had been visible. Rory glared as he grinned at her, not trusting herself to speak. She had already cursed him when she realized how she had been duped. "Yes, sir?"

"Alex, go out and make sure the sentries are in place. Mr. West will be appearing soon. I trust him to follow instructions for his daughter's sake, but I do not trust Mr. Gordon."

Rory sank to her knees again as Alex headed for the outer door, while Loveless turned to go back to the table where he had been working earlier. She thought this was some sort of warehouse, with high, dark ceiling, and boarded up or painted over windows. Lanterns illuminated this end of the building, but the further regions were deep and dark. However, she had no idea where it was located. Almost the same moment she had spotted a smiling "Derek Hagen" standing just at the edge of the grove, someone had grabbed her from behind, pressing a sweet-smelling cloth over her mouth and nose. She had awakened in this cage, with no knowledge of its location, nor how much time had passed.

She had then met Dr. Miguelito Loveless, her father's archenemy. The strange little man had solicitously asked how she was feeling, given her a tin cup filled with cool water, and apologized for the inconvenience of the situation. She was, he said, simply a victim of circumstances, the means to an end. "The end of James West," he chortled, without appearing to realize, or care, that he was speaking to his intended victim's daughter.

"You made a mistake," she had informed him staunchly. "My father won't care. He doesn't care anything about me. He will be glad to get rid of me."

She knew that her severe words had startled him momentarily. Then he pooh-poohed them. "My dear girl, you are his blood, flesh of his flesh. I know James West. That is important to him. You are important to him. He will come."

Huddled in her cell, Rory knew he was right. Her father would come for her. He would die because of her. _Oh, Daddy! I'm so sorry! I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I listen?_ She had so wanted to be right about Derek. Looking back, she could see that now. She wanted to humiliate her father with the fact that Derek Hagen was everything she believed he was, all he appeared to be. James West would have had to eat crow. Rory knew she had deliberately ignored the truth that everyone else saw, that Derek was not nearly so young as her first impression had led her to believe. Yet that stubborn streak had not permitted her to back down.

__

And now oh, if Daddy dies because of me, I won't be able to live with it! Nonetheless, the instant those thoughts crossed her mind, Rory West knew that she would live. She would live to gain revenge on Miguelito Loveless. Somehow, somewhere, she would find him and kill him. _"You are your father's daughter,"_ Loveless had said. And he was right. _I'm Aurora Allan West. I will take up the gauntlet and run you down, Loveless. I swear by my mother's grave and my father's._

Rory was unsure how much time had elapsed when the door opened again to admit the man she now knew as Alex Johnson, grinning broadly. Loveless turned from his work at the table. "Well?"

"They've got him. Should be here in a few minutes. He was alone."

"And no one else is around?"

"Only some drunks down at the tavern. We've been watching it all day. No one went in that shouldn't be there. Not Gordon, that's for sure, nor any of his men."

"Keep an eye out anyway. I don't trust Gordon to lay down anymore than I would." Loveless now hobbled toward the cage. "Did you hear, Miss West? Your dear papa is on his way. I will of course allow the two of you time to say your farewells. You called me cruel. But I am not heartless, dear child. I know the pain of loss."

Rory did not reply, aware that what she wanted to say would not be very ladylike. Instead she stood at the bars and waited, as did Loveless. He was, she decided, almost like a child anticipating the delivery of a new toy. His eyes gleamed, and she was certain that had he been physically able, he would have been skipping around, or dancing a jig.

They did not have to wait long. The door opened again, and Jim West was escorted in, each arm held by a muscular man, another close behind with a pistol jammed against his spine. Rory prevented herself from calling to him, clutching the cold bars. He was coatless, sleeves of his white shirt partially rolled up.

"Mr. West!" Loveless exclaimed happily, hobbling toward them. "How good to see you again after all these years!"

Jim West took a long look toward the small cage. She seemed unharmed at least, though her face was dirty and streaked, her hair partially undone, loose from the pins and clasps that probably held it in a neat coiffure when she thought she was going to meet an admirer. Then he turned his attention to his tormenter.

"Hello, doctor. We thought hoped you were dead."

"Oh, I am so sorry to disappoint you. I was injured, seriously so. But I am indestructible, Mr. West. You should be aware of that now."

"I'm beginning to believe it. Will you free my daughter now?"

"Mr. West, I am a man of my word. I will release the lovely young lady but not until you are cold and dead."

"Loveless" Jim jerked against the hands still clasping his arms, but he might as well have struggled with iron bands. The two men were strong, and probably chosen for that strength.

"Surely you understand, Mr. West. That is part of my revenge. I want you to die, knowing your beloved daughter is watching you, hearing you beg for mercy. That will be her last memory of you, your cowardice in the face of death. However, as I was just telling Miss West, I am not without mercy. I will allow the two of you some moments together to make your final farewells. In any case, I'm not quite ready for your finale. The potion is taking longer to distill than I anticipated, perhaps due to the differences in humidity and temperature at this latitude."

"Potion? Is that it? You're going to poison me?"

"Oh, more than poison, Mr. West. This is a special formula I developed while living in the depths of the Brazilian jungle. I created it especially for you. You were my inspiration, my muse!"

"And you're going to tell me how it works."

"Indeed I shall," Loveless chortled. "It will kill you of course, but not instantly. If I have calculated the ingredients correctly, hours will be required before you expend your last breath. During those hours, you will suffer the most excruciating pain possible. Your veins will be on fire, your muscles will feel as though white-hot pins have been inserted in them. Your brain will slowly turn to mush as the intense pain destroys it. And you will beg and plead for merciful death while I watch and laugh."

"Daddy!" Rory called out, her voice and face anguished after hearing this.

"It's all right, baby," he returned, quietly.

"Of course it is," Loveless chortled. "Put him in with her, then go out and keep guard. I will summon you when I need help with him."

Jim did not resist as he was propelled toward the cage. The man with the gun stepped around to produce a key and open the door. Jim was pushed inside. He did not even notice when the cage door slammed shut. He had his beautiful, precious daughter in his arms.

"Daddy, Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She sobbed against his shirt, arms around his neck.

Jim held her tightly. "Not your fault, baby. It's going to be all right. I promise you. You'll be safe." He kissed the top of her head.

Rory threw her head back and her tears gleamed in the light of the lantern hanging outside the cell. "I don't want to be safe! Not without you! Oh, Daddy, I was so incredibly stupid. You should have spanked me!"

He laughed softly, kissed her forehead. Only once had he ever spanked her, and that had been a few months after she came to live with him. He realized later he had reacted out of fear and horror rather than anger. She had very nearly burned down the house, and herself with it.

Jim put a hand on the back of Rory's head and pushed her against him again, leaning his head down close, and speaking very quietly. "Listen to me, Rory. Uncle Artie's coming. He will take care of you." Artemus had promised to arrive well before anything could happen, but Jim was not so sure now. They had not anticipated that he would be taken so far up the Saratoga Road, deep into the mountains. Both had believed that Loveless's secret site would not be far from where the wagon had been found, particularly given his physical condition.

Artemus had worked rapidly, putting disguises on as many men as possible. A map of the area where Jim was to go was displayed, with it they decided on possible spots where Loveless could have been hiding. This big warehouse beyond the tavern had been noted, and Jim knew that at least one disguised man was stationed in the tavern. But all the others were scattered at distant posts. Could they be brought together in time? Jim had seen seven or eight of Loveless's men outside, not counting the ones who grabbed him at the rendezvous spot, as well as the man he knew as Hagen. Loveless had nearly a dozen men all told.

"I love Uncle Artie," Rory whispered. "I love Aunt Lily. But I don't want them to be taking care of me, Daddy. I want you. I love you so!"

He had waited such a long time to hear those words. Jim West swallowed hard, and his voice was hoarse. "I love you, Rory. You're my daughter, my blood. I'm I'm sorry I was not the father you deserved."

"Oh, Daddy, you were the best ever! I'm the one who was wrong. I thought you didn't want me. I thought that Mama"

"If I had known you were on the way, Rory, I never would have left Margaret. She was a good woman. Amazing woman. You are so much like her." _Why didn't we talk about this long ago?_ "When this is over, when things calm down ask Uncle Artie and Aunt Lily to take you down to Antelope Wells. Put some flowers on her grave for both of us."

Again Rory lifted her head, a fierce expression on her face. "No. Not without you. We'll go together, Daddy."

"Okay, sweetheart. We'll go together." His voice was quiet, and he knew she did not believe him anymore than he believed it himself.

"I hesitate to interrupt this touching familial scene," Loveless said, coming toward the cage, "but the time has come Mr. West. I have three little drops of a lovely scarlet liquid barely discernible from the color of your blood. But oh, what it will do to your blood!" He chortled, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"Daddy, no!" Rory whimpered, grabbing his hand.

Jim squeezed that hand. "Be brave, sweetheart." He knew he had to stall for time, as much time as he could possibly eke out. "Loveless, where's Antoinette?"

The change in the demeanor was visible, body stiffening, face darkening. "She's dead. She died giving birth to our son and I lost them both. With all my vast knowledge, I could not save either one."

Jim West was startled, most especially by the admission of fallibility. He saw the bitter grief in Loveless's eyes and deeply lined face. "I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose you should then realize what Rory means to me."

"Of course I realize it!" the little man raged. "Why do you think I went so much trouble to find the right man who could entice her into this trap? It was not a spur of the moment scheme, Mr. West. I learned over a year ago where you were residing, and about your lovely offspring. I've had both of you, as well as Mr. Gordon and his charming family, watched for months, waiting for the right time. I even learned that Miss West possessed certain doubts about your feelings about her. So I played on them."

"I never knew you to make war on children, doctor." Jim spoke quietly. Past experience had revealed that Loveless liked to shock and appall, enjoying the reactions elicited.

"Children! My dear Mr. West, have you looked at your daughter lately. She's a woman!"

"She's still my child. Suppose your son had lived. Would you want him to endure what you plan to make Rory endure, watching you die?"

Loveless glared. "It's not the same, West. It's not the same."

Rory watched the interaction, still holding her father's hand, aware that he was playing for more time. He had said Uncle Artemus was coming. Where was he? Would he arrive in time? He had to. He had to! _I can't lose Daddy now! Please Uncle Artie! Hurry! Hurry!_

"Why isn't it the same?" Jim persisted. "Your son would have"

"My son is dead! He lived only a few minutes. A beautiful little boy he looked normal. Do you know that? He was normal. He would have been strong and handsome, like you, James West. Like you!"

The hatred in Loveless's face was chilling. Rory took a step closer to her father, and his arm went around her shoulders. Before Jim could speak, Loveless turned and hobbled toward the door, yelling. A moment later, the two burly men entered.

"Daddy, where's Uncle Artie?" Rory whispered.

"He'll be here, honey. He'll take care of you. I love you, baby. Always remember that. Try try not to watch, all right?"

He embraced her as the cage door was unlocked, then kissed her cheek again just before releasing her and stepping out. Rory screamed for him, lunging toward the open door, but it was slammed in her face. She grabbed the bars and sobbed, watching as her father was led across the floor to a table near the one Loveless used as his workbench. James West struggled, but the two men were too powerful, and he was lifted onto the table and secured with leather straps. Rory West watched, and suddenly remembered something.

A long time ago, on a chilly winter afternoon, Artemus Gordon had given his children and Rory a lesson in lock-picking. They had had contests afterwards to see who could open a lock the swiftest using certain everyday items. She had won the bouts when using a hairpin.

Everyone's attention was on Jim West. Rory reached up, her fingers feeling through her thick, disarrayed hair. Ah! A nice sturdy pin fell into her hand. Quickly Rory knelt down by the door, inserting the wire into the keyhole.

Jim West was careful to not look toward his daughter, though he had noticed her actions. He wanted her to stop, yet to call attention to her activities might endanger her life. Loveless was too unpredictable in a situation like this. Jim had to trust that he would keep his word to release Rory once once her father was dead. Hopefully, Artie would arrive soon, even if too late to save Jim West's life. Capturing Loveless before the moment might arrive when the little doctor would need to make the decision whether or not to keep his word where Rory was concerned was imperative.

"Tell me more about this special potion I'm to receive the honor of getting," Jim said, watching Loveless carefully remove a test tube from a rather complicated distillation apparatus. He could see the tiny amount of red liquid in the bottom. Oddly, he did not see an hypodermic on the table. How would the poison be applied? On his skin?

"You wouldn't fully comprehend the intricacies of the procedure," Loveless purred. "Mr. Gordon, however when I'm ready to treat him, I shall probably discuss the methods with him."

"I'm sure Artemus will look forward to it," Jim said sarcastically. His mouth suddenly went dry as he realized that Rory had been successful. She was slowly and carefully opening the cell door. _Don't, baby! Don't do it! _But it was too late. Rory stepped out of the cell.

Rory swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. Thus far, all was going well. Obviously Dr. Loveless had no qualms about her escaping. He and his two men had not so much as glanced her way. Loveless was intent on his potion, the two behemoths were watching in fascination. She looked around, and saw what she needed.

At some point, Loveless had leaned one of his two canes against the wall not far from the cage. The other was alongside him at the table. While a gun would have been infinitely better, none was in view, at least none she could easily grab; both of the guards wore weapons. Carefully, measuring every step, Rory edged toward the cane, keeping her gaze fastened on the men gathered around her father.

Loveless held the test tube as he turned toward the man imprisoned on the table. "Just a few more seconds, Mr. West. This is a delicate and important moment. You must have the entire dose for it to be maximally effective and it must be ingested orally."

"How about in a glass of good bourbon," Jim West said dryly.

"Sorry, it cannot be diluted. This is why I've kept Jack and Bruno here. They'll leave once the dose is administered. I want to enjoy this moment all by myself. They will hold your head and force your mouth open so I can administer the, um, medicine directly into your throat, so there's no chance you can expectorate any. Bruno, you hold his head secure, Jack, grasp his jaw"

"No!" Rory West screamed, and swung the cane with all her strength. The end struck the elbow of Loveless's arm, the one with the vial in his hand. Miguelito yelled in pain, and the glass slipped out of his fingers, crashing to the hard floor and shattering.

"Grab her! Grab her!" Loveless shrieked, holding his aching arm with his other hand. "Don't kill her. Not yet!"

Jim struggled against the leather straps as he saw his daughter racing around the large nearly empty room, pursued by the lumbering thugs. Both had drawn their guns. He hoped to God they heard and obeyed Loveless's directive. She was evading them rather easily, disappearing into the darkness beyond the lantern's reach, reappearing elsewhere, like a sprite, but the commotion might draw others inside. Thus far, Loveless had not thought to summon more help. He was too enraged, still screaming invectives toward the lithe young woman.

Rory dodged between the pair, and headed straight for the work area. Loveless was not armed. She would need only a moment to grab the sharp scalpel-like tool she had seen on the workbench.

"You little witch!" Loveless shrieked as she neared. "You're going to die too!"

"Rory, run!" Jim cried, suddenly aware of what she was up to.

She ignored him, seizing the knife to quickly slice the leather strap that secured his right wrist. "Here." Rory stuck the knife in his hand and dashed away as the pair of ox-like men plodded closer. Both were breathing heavily, unaccustomed to such exertion.

"No, no, no!" Loveless was screeching, waving his arms, as he watched Jim cut away the confining straps. Seemingly he was too distraught to react any further than that.

Jim had just sliced the strap holding his legs, preparatory to jumping off to assist Rory, when the front door burst open. A momentary surge of hope that Artemus had arrived died as the blond man stepped inside, followed by two others, guns in hand. "Hold it!" Alex yelled. "Rory, stop where you are or I'll shoot your old man!"

She halted, seeing the three weapons pointed toward her father as he froze alongside the table. Jim held out his hand, and she walked carefully to him, slipped within the circle of his arm. "I tried, Daddy."

"You did your best, sweetheart." As terrified as he was for her safety, he was also bursting with pride.

"Well, Miss West," Loveless glared at her. "I would say you are your father's daughter, indeed."

Her chin came up. "Thank you."

"As for you, Mr. West, now that your intrepid daughter has foiled my plans, I will come up with another. It's simple. I'll allow you to watch dear Rory die first."

"Loveless, you gave your word!"

"That was before her little escapade. When the vial smashed, everything changed. I have no desire to be cruel to a woman, so a quick bullet in the back of the head will do the trick. She won't see it coming, won't feel a thing. But you will, Mr. West. You can regret every time you foiled me in my plans, because by doing so, you have murdered your own daughter."

"I'll come back," Jim said in a low, growling tone. "I'll come back, Loveless. From the grave. Count on it."

Rory saw the little man flinch. Was he superstitious, or was whatever he heard in her father's voice, saw in his face, enough to frighten him? He recovered, however, straightening his shoulders. "I'll be waiting. Alex, would you like to do the honors?"

Rory felt her father's arm tighten around her shoulders, but she stiffened. "If my father can come back from the grave, then look for me to be with him, Dr. Loveless. Can you handle two ghosts?"

Loveless chuckled. "I shall look forward to such a beautiful spirit. Alex?"

Just as Alex took a step to move around behind the West pair, the big door burst open again and this time Artemus Gordon was in the lead, holding a pistol. His son and several other men were behind him, including Lyle Peters.

"Put down your guns!" Artemus roared. "Loveless, don't move!"

__

Artie should know better! That thought flitted through Jim's mind as he saw the little man whirl and start toward the dim far side of the building. Grabbing Rory's hand, Jim pulled her behind the cupboard at Loveless's table as guns roared. Loveless's men were not going to surrender without a fight.

"Artie!" he yelled above the din. "Loveless! Get Loveless!"

The number of men who entered behind Gordon increased, and all were armed. Many were law officers, Jim realized as he peered around the cupboard and saw the glint of badges. Three of Loveless's men went down, including Alex, but those remaining continued to fire, laying flat on the floor as Artemus's men did the same. No shelter was available except what Jim and Rory had. Artemus could not chase Loveless without exposing himself to the gunfire.

"Baby, stay here. Don't move," Jim warned his daughter. He heard her call after him as he rose and headed toward the dim corners of the building.

He quickly realized that Loveless was not making very fast progress toward whatever he was seeking. His crippled body was betraying him. Jim first spotted the little man struggling to get to his feet about twenty yards ahead of him, near the far wall. "Loveless!" he shouted. "Stop! You can't get away!"

Even as the words were out of his mouth while he sprinted toward the fugitive, Jim West remembered the number of times the crazy doctor had seemed to be in a futile position, where the agents thought he could not possibly evade them. He would either die or be captured, they were certain. Neither had happened. Loveless always had an escape route. Did he have one here?

Loveless fell again, and this time, perhaps propelled by the knowledge that West was close behind, he scrambled up more swiftly, continuing to stagger toward the darkened corner. Jim West became aware of his own age-caused deficiencies now. Though he considered himself in good condition, he had not run fifty or more yards at top effort for a long while. The warehouse was huge.

He saw Loveless gain the far corner, but in the murk, could not see what he was doing. Jim only knew he had to get to the man. He might have a tunnel or God knew what there.

"Stop, Mr. West," Loveless suddenly said, turning to face his pursuer. In his hand was a very large pistol.

Jim skidded to a halt, dropping to one knee, gasping for breath. "You can't get away, Loveless. The building is surrounded." He did not know that, in fact, doubted Artie had been able to bring enough men to accomplish that feat.

"It doesn't matter," Miguelito Loveless said calmly. "We are going down together, Mr. West. I shall have the satisfaction of knowing I accomplished my mission. Perhaps not in the way I would have wished, but dead is dead, is it not?" He put both hands around the butt of the gun and lifted it.

Jim West hurled himself to his right just as the weapon in Loveless's hands went off. He heard the whistle of the pellet flying passed his shoulder, and prepared to continue to take evasive action as Loveless adjusted. Before that happened, however, more shots were fired. Shots that came from somewhere behind him.

"Jim!" Artemus cried, coming toward him. "Are you all right?"

Jim grasped Artie's extended hand and pulled himself to his feet. "I'm all right. Loveless?"

Someone had a lantern, which was held high to display the scene. "My God," Artemus murmured. "I don't believe it."

James West stared down at the misshapen form sprawled on the floor. He was on his back, blood covering his chest, sightless eyes staring into the dimness. After a moment, Jim leaned down and brushed his hand over the eyes, closing them forever.

"I always said I wouldn't believe it" he said softly, looking at Artemus and wondering if his partner was experiencing the same emotions. Almost grief. A definite sense of relief, yet Jim remembered telling Artemus Gordon a long time ago, on an occasion when they had been certain Miguelito Loveless had drowned, _"I'll miss him, Artie."_

The lantern's light also revealed what Loveless had been heading for. A small door in the lower part of the wall, opening into the darkness outside. He must have also had the gun secreted there.

"Daddy! Uncle Artie!" Rory's voice came from the far side of the room. "Jamie is hurt!"

"Oh my God," Artemus cried, and both men hurried back.

The young man was sitting on the floor, Rory kneeling beside him. Blood stained his upper left arm, which he was clutching with his right hand. The pallor of Jamie's complexion indicated shock was setting in. His father yelled for someone to fetch a doctor and was informed that had been done. Other men, including a few of the posse, were injured.

Two of Loveless's men, together with Alex alias Derek, were dead. Others inside had been hurt, though none seriously. Artemus told Jim and Rory that the posse had surprised and captured several men outside.

"It was touch and go, I tell you," Artie said as he put a makeshift bandage created from his own torn shirt on his son's arm. Inspection had revealed that a bullet had gone all the way through the fleshy part of Jamie's arm. Painful and bloody, but not life-threatening if cared for. "We knew _which_ way you went, Jim, but I'm sure you realized none of us figured it would be so far up the road. Thank God we put a man in the tavern. He saw enough–though he did not actually see you–to put two and two together, then came riding hard for us."

"Nick of time, Artie. Nick of time. But Rory bought me some time." He smiled warmly on his proud daughter.

"I want to hear it all," Artemus said. "But we have a mess to clean up here. I know that Jamie's mother and sister are nervous wrecks by now waiting to hear from us. There's a telephone in the tavern. I'll go use it as soon as the doctor shows up."

The Wests exchanged a look. _Dire situation, indeed!_

"How's the boy?" Lyle Peters asked, coming over

"I'm fine, Grandpa," Jamie replied, gazing upward from his prone position. He saw his step-grandfather's gaze touch on the soft feminine hand that was clutching Jamie's right hand.

"I guess you are, my boy. I guess you are."

WWWWWW

Aurora Allan West let out a long, contented sigh as she rested her head against her father's strong shoulder. She was tired. They had not returned to home until almost dawn, and another hour or more elapsed before she climbed into her bed. Still more time had been required to will her brain to stop reviewing all that had happened and let fatigue take over.

Upon awakening a little after noon, she first wondered if it had not all been a dream. Then she saw the black shawl in a puddle on the floor, along with the extra pillows, and realized the truth of her own stupidity, how she had put not only her own life, but her father's in jeopardy. All due to stubborn pride.

Going downstairs, she had done something she had not done since a very young child. She ran to her father and hugged him warmly. By the strength of his embrace, she knew what the gesture meant to him. They had breakfast together, and in reality, had virtually not been out of each other's sight since then.

Now in the late afternoon they were on the porch glider, gently rocking, sometimes talking, often just sharing a companionable silence. _Oh, what I missed by being so foolish all these years. My father loves me, and I know I love him. Why could we not admit it to ourselves and each other all this time?_

"Daddy, if I tell you something silly, will you promise not to laugh?"

Jim took her nearest hand. "No," he replied firmly, "silly things are meant to be laughed about. But I'll laugh with you, not at you."

"Do you remember the first time we ever saw each other, in Mrs. Barrows' house?"

"I'll never forget it." Nor the pain the terror he had seen in her eyes caused him.

"I ran away from you. Do you know why?"

He was a bit baffled now. Where was this leading? "No."

"I thought you stole my eyes!"

Jim leaned forward slightly to look at her. "What?"

"It's true, Daddy. I had never seen anyone with the same color of eyes I had. Mama always said I should be proud of my eye color, that it was special. And I was. When I saw you well, I had to run and look in the mirror to make sure I still had my eyes! So silly!"

Jim was laughing by then, and soon she was giggling along with him. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her tight. "My beautiful, green-eyed daughter," he said when their mirth finally subsided, though he did not release his embrace immediately. "I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. Maybe even before. Maybe even when I got your mother's letter. I wish I wish I could have told you before. I don't know why I didn't."

"Because we're two of a kind, Daddy. Both pigheaded fools! Aren't we?"

He kissed her forehead. "I think that's an apt description, baby. Too bad it took something like last night to knock some sense into us."

"I'm glad Dr. Loveless is dead. He was a frightening man."

"Indeed he was," Jim concurred. He was still having difficulty grasping the fact the Miguelito Loveless would not terrorize the world again. "Frightening and" Jim could not find the words. At least not the words that Rory might comprehend. Strangely, he felt that a little piece of himself had died last night as well.

"Rory," he said then, "I'm very proud of what you did last night. But I want you to promise me you'll never do something so foolish again."

She leaned her head back and looked him in the eye. "If you mean you want me to promise I will never sneak out to meet a man under cover of night again, I'll happily swear to it. I can't believe now how idiotic I was. But if you mean I would never act to try to help you, to try to save your life, no. Daddy, I had to do that. And I'll do it again. I'm your daughter!"

"All right, all right. Let's just hope the situation never arises again. Looks like the Gordon family is approaching."

He could see the silhouette of a buggy coming up the dusty lane. He had called the Gordon house earlier to see how everyone was, and ended up inviting them for supper. He and Artemus had a lot to discuss. Lily had said that Jamie was fine, that he could travel in a buggy with no problem.

"Jamie was so brave," Rory sighed, staring out toward the vehicle.

"He was. Uncle Artie told me he tried to prevent Jamie from participating but that young man can be just as iron-willed as his father."

"Daddy? Remember how I said the other day that Jamie was just a boy?"

"I remember."

"It occurs to me that I was behaving just as I was accusing you of behaving, of seeing me as a little girl. I've just known Jamie for so long I didn't realize he had grown up."

"I don't think he missed noticing that in you!"

Rory giggled. "I know. I like Jamie very, very much. I know he has wanted to court me. If he asks, will you permit it?"

"Reluctantly." Jim saw the surprise on her face and smiled. "Only because I know where it could lead."

She kissed his chin. "Daddy, you've got me for life, for better or worse!"

Lily Gordon sighed as she gazed toward the house the Gordon vehicle was approaching. "I sometimes wondered if I would ever see that happen." James West and his daughter were walking out toward the gate in the yard's fence, arms around each other's waists.

"Both of them learned a big lesson last night," her husband replied, "the hard way."

Lily looked around to the second seat in the vehicle. "Jamie, are you all right?" She had halfheartedly urged him to stay home and rest, quite aware of the futility of such a request. The best he would accept was to have a pillow placed under his injured arm so that it would not be jolted on the ride. India had been the one to carefully insert the pillow in place.

"I'm fine, Mom. And I'll sit all the while I'm here." With, he fervently hoped, Aurora West at his side.

Shortly, the three parents were in the second parlor, enjoying a glass of wine. Jim had expansively opened a bottle of his own vintage, one of the first bottled, and one he was justifiably proud of. Artemus sipped it appreciatively. When Jim and Lyle were ready to start releasing their efforts to the public, he was certain it was going to be welcomed with enthusiasm and compared favorably with French imports.

"How are you feeling, Jim?" he asked then.

Jim West was standing near the front window, gazing out at the three young people on the porch. "Tired. Maybe a little numb. A lot happened last night."

"To state it mildly," Artemus smiled. One could say their past caught up with them. Both had always been aware that it could. Many, if not most, of their former enemies were confirmed to be dead. They had only hoped Loveless was among those. Now he was. Maybe one day, Artie mused, he could have a deep discussion with Jim about just how he truly felt.

That synergy between James West and Miguelito Loveless had been there, had to have meant something. In some ways, the pair had been like the two sides of a coin, opposite yet parallel. West, the handsome, virile, athletic, clever agent working on the side of his country, and indeed for freedom- and peace-loving people throughout the world. Loveless, intent in his own twisted way to destroy everything that West stood for and fought for. Yes, a discussion of the relationship could fill an entire chapter, or more, in the book if he could persuade Jim to talk about it.

"Only thing," Jim said, going toward the bottle resting on a table to refill his glass, "I finally have the daughter I always wanted and now it appears I may lose her."

Both Lily and Artemus laughed. "Not for awhile," Lily soothed.

"I think I've convinced Jamie to graduate, and possibly get into his post-graduate studies before even considering marriage," Artie assured him.

"And Rory has to finish her schooling too," Lily pointed out. While she did not consider herself an ardent feminist, Lily did believe in allowing women more freedom in their lives, especially using their God-given intelligence. She had not yet informed her husband she also supported the right of women to vote!

"Well, that's something," Jim sighed, sinking onto the sofa alongside his partner's wife. He lifted his glass. "To the future. And perhaps to the past."

Lily sipped her wine. "Would you change it if you could, Jim? The past, I mean."

He shook his head thoughtfully, remembering those he had lost, but also those he had gained. "I don't think so. I wouldn't give up Rory for anything. Be sure Jamie understands that!" He grinned. "I'm going to be one hell of a father-in-law!"

Artemus Gordon lifted his glass again. "To the future, James. To the future."

THE END


End file.
